wmmm&m0»mmm»ammmmmmk^^ 


■  I 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


SMLMERCOU-fcCauN 


THE 


YOUNG  VOLUNTEER 


A  RECORD  OF  THE 

EXPERIENCES  OF  A  PRIVATE  SOLDIER. 


BY 
JOSEPH  E.  CROWELL, 

Late  Private  Company  K,  13th  N.J.  Volunteers  and  Lieutenant 
Veteran  Reserve  Corps, 


F.  TENNYSON  NEELY, 

PUBLISHER, 
LONDON.  NEW  YORK. 


Copyright,  1S99, 

by 

F.  Tenn'sson  Nkuly 

in 

United  States 

ami 
Great  Britain, 

All  Rights  Ueserved. 


TO  MY  LIFE-LONG  FRIEND, 

CAPTAIN   CHARLES  CURIE, 

(Late  of  the  gth  and  178th  Regiments,  N.  Y.  Volunteers) 

A  BRAVE  SOLDIER,  A   GALLANT,  A  CONSIDERATE  OFFICER,  A   LOYAL  VETERAN,  A 

WORTHY  CITIZEN,  AN   UPRIGHT  MAN,  AND,  ABOVE  ALL,  A  TRUE  FRIEND 

IN  EVERY  SENSE  OF  THE  WORD,  THIS  BOCK   IS   HEARTILY  AND 

RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED. 


602793 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/youngvolunteerreOOcrow 


PREFACE. 


What  is  army  life  during  the  time  of  war  like,  as 
seen  by  "the  rank  and  file" — the  men  who  compose  the 
great  majority? 

To  give  an  idea  of  the  experiences  and  everyday  ex- 
istence of  the  private  soldier  was  the  main  object  in 
writing  this  story. 

The  world  is  full  of  books  written  from  the  standpoint 
of  the  officers,  giving  the  movements  of  troops  and  gen- 
eral accounts  of  great  battles,  and  describing  the 
maneuvers  as  witnessed  from  headquarters.  They  are 
histories,  it  is  true,  as  seen  by  the  writers,  but  they  do 
not  portray  the  life,  hardships,  trials  and  sufferings  of 
that  portion  of  the  army  known  as  "the  men." 

There  is  a  great  dividing  gulf,  military  and  social, 
between  "officers"  and  "men,"  and  they  see  the  same 
things  with  vastly  different  eyes. 

There  are  very  few  works  relating  to  the  actual  ex- 
periences of  the  private  soldier,  giving  his  troubles  and 
his  joys,  and  presenting  the  dark  and  the  bright  sides  of 
his  life  in  the  army.  Hence  this  story  covers  a  some- 
what unbeaten  field,  and  its  novelty  will  proportionately 
add  to  its  interest. 

The  story  is  historically  correct,  so  far  as  it  goes.  It 
is  part  of  the  history  of  the  Thirteenth  Kegiment,  New 
Jersey  Volunteers,  in  the  War  of  the  Rebellion.  But  it 
is  only  so  in  part,  for  it  is  merely  carried  far  enough  to 
give  the  reader  an  idea  of  a  private's  life  in  the  army. 


v{  PREFACE. 

To  extend  it  further  would  be  largely  a  repetition  o£ 
the  same  experiences,  for,  with  topographical  and  cli- 
matic variations,  all  marches  and  battles  are  similar — 
to  the  private  soldier.  Most  of  the  names  used  are  gen- 
uine and  a  majority  of  the  incidents  portrayed  are  the 
actual  experiences  of  the  author;  hence  for  the  nearly 
two  years  covered  it  is  history. 

It  may  be  confidently  asserted  that  nothing  has  been 
exaggerated  or  overdrawn.  Nor  is  there  anything  in  it 
especially  remarkable.  Practically  it  relates  the  experi- 
ence of  nearly  every  private  soldier  who  served  in  the 
civil  war.  Thousands  and  thousands  of  others  could 
refer  to  it  as  their  own  history,  for  their  experiences 
were  identical  with  it. 

To  give  the  youth  of  the  country  a  faint  idea  of  real 
war  and  real  army  life ;  to  instil  in  them  sentiments  of 
patriotism ;  to  impress  upon  them  the  magnitude  of  the 
task  of  preserving  the  Union ;  and  to  cause  them  all  the 
more  to  appreciate  the  blessings  they  now  enjoy  through 
the  patriotism,  sufferings  and  privations  of  their  fathers 
and  grandfathers,  were  also  objects  which  instigated  the 
story  of  "The  Young  Volunteer." 


THE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ENLISTING. 

"Say,  Joe,  won't  you  carry  this  package  of  cheese 
around  to  Mr.  Pennington's?  The  boj^s  are  all  out,  and 
I  promised  to  send  it  some  time  ago." 

The  speaker  was  Henry  B.  Crosby,  who  kept  the  big 
grocery  store  in  Main  Street.  He  was  variously  known 
as  "The  Grocer  King"  and  "The  Cheese  Prince" — the 
latter  appellation  resulting  from  his  custom  of  buying 
cheese  by  the  cargo  and  selling  it  a  lower  price  than  any 
one  else.  If  I  had  known  then  what  I  afterward  knew, 
I  would  probably  have  said  "Cheese  it,"  and  forthwith 
"skipped,"  instead  of  being  a  "skipper."  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  that  pound  of  cheese  I  might  never  have  been 
in  the  army,  and  the  war  might  have  been  going  on 
yet! 

Aaron  S.  Pennington's  big  stone  mansion  was  a  fine 
old  residence  and  stood  on  a  high  hill.  The  ground  was 
then  on  a  level  with  what  is  now  the  second  story,  and 
to  this  day  you  can  see  the  former  big  front  door  up 
there  in  the  air.  It  was  surrounded  by  spacious 
grounds. 

Aaron  S.  Pennington,  like  all  the  old  gentlemen  of 
that  day,  generally  did  his  own  marketing.  You  could 
see  him  walking  down  among  the  hucksters  on  Main 
Street  every  morning,  with  a  big  market  basket  on  his 
arm.  Few  of  the  grocers  and  butchers  had  wagons  in 
those  days.  People  bought  their  own  provisions  and 
generally  carried  them  home  themselves.  How  Mr. 
Pennington  came  to  leave  that  pound  of  cheese  to  be 
sent  home  I  never  knew. 


8  THE  TO Vm   VOLUNTEER. 

I  did  not  work  in  the  grocery  store.  I  was  employed 
in  the  Guardian  office.  In  the  forenoon  I  set  type.  In 
the  afternoon  I  wrote  down  the  war  news  at  the  only 
telegraph  office  in  the  city,  which  was  in  the  old  Erie 
depot.  "Jack"  Dunning  was  telegraph  operator. 
"Tune"  Dougherty,  who  was  then  a  wee  bit  of  a  fel- 
low, was  the  sole  messenger  boy.  In  the  afternoon 
when  the  paper  was  out,  I  carried  a  route  and  sold 
papers  on  the  street.  In  the  evening  I  tended  office  and 
helped  on  the  books,  for  I  understood  bookkeeping. 
Wages  one  dollar  and  fifty  cents  per  week. 

Still,  my  hours  were  not  ironclad,  and  I  had  time 
left  to  go  around  a  little  to  pick  up  local  items,  and 
Crosby's  grocery  store  was  one  of  my  "loafing"  places. 
There  was  a  considerable  degree  of  familiarity  between 
the  boss  grocer  and  myself,  and  that  is  how  he  asked 
me,  as  a  favor,  to  carry  around  the  cheese  to  Mr.  Pen- 
nington. This  introduction  is  given,  therefore,  not  only 
as  an  historical  fact,  but  as  an  example  to  show  by  what 
insignificant  events  a  man's  life  is  frequently  swerved. 
Many  a  time  afterward  I  hurled  boundless  anathemas 
at  that  pound  of  cheese,  and  wondered  why  Aaron  S. 
Pennington  wanted  cheese  for  supper  on  that  particular 
afternoon. 

I  well  remember  the  day.  It  was  Wednesday,  Au- 
gust 18, 1862.  And  right  here  let  me  interpolate  a  little 
historical  data. 

It  was,  so  far  as  the  feelings  and  apprehensions  of  the 
North  were  concerned,  the  most  critical  period  of  the 
war.  The  Army  of  gthe  Potomac  had  retreated  from  a 
position  whence  they  could  actually  see  the  seven  hills 
of  Richmond,  back  to  Harrison's  Landing,  on  the 
James  River.  General  Lee  was  marching  with  the 
Confederate  army  close  behind,  and  even  Washington 
was  threatened.  The  North  was,  as  a  consequence, 
precipitated  into  a  genuine  ppmic.  It  looked  as  if,  be- 
fore another  month,  the  Confederates  would  be  in  pos- 
session of  the  National  Capital.  President  Lincoln 
issued  a  call  for  three  hundred  thousand  additional  vol- 
unteers. If  enough  could  not  be  obtained  voluntarily, 
a  draft  was  to  be  ordered. 

It  should  be  stated  that  the  first  rush  to  arms,  in  1861, 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  0 

had  been  spontaneous.  The  first  term  of  enlistment 
was  but  for  three  months.  Then  it  became  apparent 
that  the  rebellion  was  not  going  to  be  suppressed  in 
three  months,  and  three  years'  men  were  called.  The 
ambitious,  impulsive  j'ouths  who  are  ever  on  the  watch 
for  adventure,  constituted  the  first  spontaneous  outpour- 
ing of  robust  young  patriots,  but  in  'G2  it  was  different. 
Things  had  become  serious.  The  people  of  the  country 
had  suddenly  awakened  to  a  realization  of  the  fact  that 
they  had  a  real  war  on  hand.  And  not  only  a  war,  but 
probably  a  long  and  stubborn  one,  against  an  enemy 
equally  brave,  almost  as  strong,  and,  perhaps,  still 
more  determined. 

It  would  be  impossible  for  the  present  generation  to 
form  the  slightest  conception  of  the  excitement  that  pre- 
vailed. Public  meetings  were  held  everywhere,  and  the 
most  potent  orators  in  every  locality,  were  urging  upon 
the  young  men  to  do  their  duty  by  flying  to  the  defense 
of  their  country. 

I  was  one  of  the  "flyers."  And  it  was  all  through 
that  pound  of  cheese.  As  I  came  back  from  Mr.  Pen- 
nington's, I  saw  a  big  crowd  of  people  in  front  of  the 
old  "bank  building  in  Main  Street.  There  was  a  big 
stone  piazza  or  vestibule  on  a  level  with  the  second 
story,  which  was  reached  by  flights  of  stone  steps  on 
each  side.  On  that  piazza  some  one  was  making  a 
speech. 

It  was  Henry  A.  Williams,  the  mayor  of  the  city. 
He  told  of  the  imperilled  country  and  urged  on  the 
young  men  to  enlist.  Socrates  Tuttle,  a  prominent 
lawyer,  described  what  a  glorious  thing  it  was  to  fight 
for  one's  native  land.  Colonel  A.  B.  Woodruff,  Gen- 
eral Thomas  D.  Hoxsey  and  others  spoke  in  a  similar 
strain.  The  result  of  it  all  was  that  half  the  boys  in 
the  crowd  couldn't  get  to  the  nearest  recruiting  office 
quickly  enough. 

It  is  a  very  singular  thing  that  of  all  these  impas- 
sioned orators  who  said  it  was  such  a  glorious  thing, 
but  one  enlisted  himself!  But  then,  perhaps,  it  was 
necessary  to  have  some  one  remain  home  to  do  the  talk- 
ing! One  of  them,  however,  who  was  subsequently 
drafted,  nobly  fougbt  and  died — by  proxy.  He  sent  a 
substitute,  at  a  cost  of  eight  hundred  dollars. 


10  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

And  that  reminds  me  of  a  thing  that  has  perhaps  been 
forgotten.  So  afraid  were  some  of  the  leading  citizens 
that  they  might  be  drafted,  that  they  formed  a  "mutual 
substitute  insurance  company."  It  cost  at  that  time 
eight  hundred  dollars  to  get  a  man  to  take  your  place. 
(Later  in  the  war  the  price  advanced  to  fifteen  hun- 
dred and  two  thousand  dollars.)  Well,  eight  men 
would  chip  in  one  hundred  dollars  each  into  a  general 
fund,  and  if  any  one  of  the  eight  was  drafted  the  money 
would  be  used  to  "buy  a  substitute."  If  two  of  them 
were  drafted,  the  extra  money  was  raised  by  an  addi- 
tional assessment ;  but  the  drafting  process  was  like  a 
lottery,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  there  was  seldom  more 
than  one  "prize"  in  an  association  of  eight  men.  I 
might  mention  the  names  of  quite  a  number  of  well- 
known  citizens  still  living  who  belonged  to  these  sub- 
stitute insurance  companies.  At  political  meetings  I 
have  often  heard  some  of  them  shouting  "how  we  saved 
the  Union!" 

But  we  poor  chaps,  who  couldn't  raise  one  hundred 
let  alone  eight  hundred  dollars  escaped  the  draft  by 
enlisting.  It  wasn't  fear  of  the  draft,  however,  that 
influenced  us.  I  was  just  past  eighteen  years  old,  and 
"liable,"  but  so  far  as  I  was  concerned  I  never  once 
thought  anything  about  being  drafted. 

Why  I,  and  the  other  fellows,  came  to  enlist,  is  some- 
thing I  never  could  explain.  I  think  I  am  safe  in  say- 
ing that,  at  the  moment,  genuine  patriotism  hardly 
entered  into  the  question.  Of  course  there  were  some 
who  enlisted  from  patriotic  motives;  but  when  one 
comes  down  to  the  bottom  facts,  I  believe  a  majority  of 
the  boys  were  induced  to  go  from  other  motives.  Most 
probably  it  was  the  general  excitement  of  the  times.  It 
was  simply  a  furore  to  go  to  the  war.  To  many  it  was 
a  change  from  the  ordinary  humdrum  of  life.  To  others 
it  was  looked  upon  as  a  picnic.  And  then  in  every 
boy's  heart  there  is  an  inherent  spirit  of  adventure. 

The  orators  on  the  steps  of  the  old  bank  building  had 
said  the  reason  the  war  had  lasted  so  long  already  was 
because  there  were  not  enough  soldiers  at  the  front. 
But  now  all  that  would  be  attended  to  in  short  order. 
With  the  great  army  that  was  about  to  be  organized. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  li 

the  war  couldn't  possibly  last  more  than  three  months 
longer  By  cold  weather  it  would  all  be  over.  As  said 
before,  what  particular  motive  I  had  in  enlisting,  be- 
yond an  impulse,  I  don't  know,  and  many  of  my  com- 
panions frequently  expressed  a  similar  opinion.  But 
enlist  we  did. 

Hugh  C.  Irish  was  forming  a  company  for  the  Thir- 
teenth New  Jersey  Volunteers.  It  is  in  his  memory 
that  Camp  No.  8  of  the  Sons  of  Veterans  of  Paterson  is 
named.  Mr.  Irish  had  been  my  employer,  as  one  of  the 
proprietors  of  the  Guardian.  For  some  reason  Mr.  Irish 
sold  out  his  interest  in  the  Guardian  and  embarked  in 
the  grocery  business.  He  had  been  there  but  a  few 
months  when  he  became  convinced  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  go  to  war.  Mr.  Irish  was  one  of  the  men  who 
entered  the  service  out  of  pure  loyalty  and  patriotism. 
In  his  case  the  motive  was  unquestionable. 

Mr.  Irish  had  been  authorized  to  raise  a  company  for 
the  Thirteenth  Regiment,  then  forming  at  Newark, 
under  the  president's  call,  and  he  was  to  be  the  captain. 
His  grocery  store  was  transformed  into  a  recruiting 
office.  The  recruits  signed  the  roll  on  the  bottom  of  a 
soap  box.  It  was  to  this  place  I  hastened  after  hearing 
the  patriotic  speeches  from  the  steps  of  the  old  bank 
building.  Whatever  hesitation  I  might  have  had  on 
the  way  thither  was  completely  knocked  out  by  the 
tune  of  "The Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me,"  which  was  being 
played  on  a  cracked  drum  and  wheezy  fife  by  two 
"musicians"  in  baggy  clothes  who  had  just  enlisted 
themselves.  They  stood  in  front  of  the  store  banging 
and  blowing  away  for  dear  life. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  such  music  would 
have  been  rotten- egged.  As  it  was,  it  was  but  a  noisy 
echo  of  the  spirit  of  the  times,  and  filled  the  heart  of  the 
listener  with  patriotic  emotions  that  were  simply  irre- 
sistible. No  one,  hearing  such  martial  strains,  could 
resist  the  war  influence !  I  couldn't.  In  a  very  few 
moments  I  had  signed  an  eagle-headed  sheet  of  paper 
which  bound  me,  "stronger  than  ropes  and  cords  could 
bind  me, "  to  the  service  of  the  United  States  of  America, 
"for  the  term  of  three  years  unless  sooner  discharged." 

I  had  scarcely  signed  before  I  began  to  be  sorry.     For 


12  THE  YOUNG-   VOLUNTEER. 

the  first  time  I  realized  what  I  had  done  and  began  to 
be  frightened.  But  the  sight  of  so  many  of  my  friends 
and  companions  around  me  soon  dissipated  that  feeling. 
There  was  "Rats"  and  "Curt"  and  "Liv,"  besides 
Captain  Irish,  ail  from  our  office.  "Rats"  was  David 
Harris.  "Curt"  was  Curtis  Bowne,  whose  tragic  and 
singular  death  at  the  battle  of  Antietarn  will  be  noticed 
later  on.  "Liv"  was  E.  Livingston  Allen,  now  a 
Methodist  minister.  He  is  the  only  one  of  the  lot  who 
went  into  the  ministry.  All  those  mentioned  were 
printers.  Then  there  were  James  G.  Scott  (afterward 
captain)  and  Hank  Van  Orden,  Jim  Dougherty,  Jack 
Stansfield,  Heber  Wells,  "Ginger"  Clark,  John  Butter- 
worth,  "Lem"  Smith,  John  Snyder  (with  the  big 
nose),  "Slaughter  House  Ick,"  Dan  Wannamaker, 
John  J.  Carlough,  Sandy  Kidd,  John  Nield,  John  An- 
derson, "Dad"  Bush,  Reddy  Mahar,  George  Comer, 
William  Lambert,  Archy  McCall,  ArchyTodd,  "Jake" 
Engel,  "Jake"  Berdan,  W.  J.  Campbell,  W.  J.  Car- 
lough, John  Farlow,  Thomas  Hardy,  Joseph  H.  Pewt- 
ner,  Theodore  S.  Perry,  James  H.  Peterson,  and  a 
whole  lot  of  other  fellows  I  had  known,  and  some  of 
whom  will  come  in  for  further  reference  during  the 
course  of  this  story. 

The  immediate  association  of  all  these — the  fact  that 
so  many  old  acquaintances  had  enlisted  together  and 
would  go  to  war  together,  relieved  the  event  of  the 
lonesomeness  and  awfulness  of  the  step.  It  was  simply 
impossible  to  remain  lonesome  and  downhearted  in  com- 
pany with  such  a  crowd — and  many  others  whose 
names  are  now  beyond  memory's  call.  And  when  one 
comes  to  look  at  them,  they  must  have  been  physically 
a  tough  set,  for  many  of  them  are  yet  alive,  and  some 
of  them  do  not  look  much  older  than  they  did  during 
the  war. 

There  were  a  number  who  felt  dubious  about  enlist- 
ing in  a  regiment  which  was  to  bear  the  unlucky  num- 
ber "13,"  but  it  wasn't  a  superstitious  crowd,  and  that 
was  soon  forgotten.  Nor  was  it  an  aristocratic  crowd. 
Nearly  all  were  poor  working  boys. 

A  sort  of  pride  fills  the  heart  of  the  new  recruit.  He 
imagines  that  he  has  already  done  something  brave. 


TEE  TO  UNO    VOLUNTEER.  13 

and  rather  looks  down  on  those  who  have  not  signed  the 
roll.  When  I  went  to  see  my  girl  that  night  I  felt  con- 
siderably puffed  up.  As  it  was  a  good-by  call,  I  asked 
for  her  picture. 

"What,''  exclaimed  she,  "and  have  some  stranger 
take  it  out  of  your  pocket  if  you  are  killed?  I  guess 
not." 

That  wasn't  very  pleasant.  Getting  killed  wasn't  in 
the  bargain.  I  didn't  feel  a  bit  comfortable  at  such  a 
gloomy  possibility. 

But  when  I  left  the  house  I  had  the  picture  of  a  very 
pretty  girl  in  my  pocket.  The  girls  of  those  days  were 
patriotic,  and  he  indeed  was  a  poor  soldier  who  had 
not  in  his  pocket  a  picture  of  "The  Girl  I  Left  Behind 
me. ' ' 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  II. 

IN   CAMP. 

A  day  or  so  later  a  squad  of  recruits  for  Company  K, 
Thirteenth  Regiment  of  New  Jersey  Volunteers,  pro- 
ceeded to  Camp  Frelinghuysen,  Newark.  The  camp 
was  along  the  canal,  in  the  higher  portion  of  the  city. 
There  was  no  railroad  then  between  Paterson  and  New- 
ark, and  our  contingent  went  down  by  Barney  Demar- 
est's  stage,  reaching  camp  shortly  after  noon.  Many 
others  had  preceded  us. 

When  the  stage  started  from  Paterson  it  wasn't  a 
very  jolly  crowd.  Many  an  eye  bore  a  redness  indica- 
tive of  recent  tears,  for  the  hardest  part  of  enlisting  is 
the  parting  with  one's  dear  ones  at  home.  There  was 
many  an  affecting  scene  in  many  a  home  the  previous 
night.  Not  that  parents  and  sisters  and  sweethearts 
were  not  patriotic;  but  it  was  with  copious  tears  that 
mothers  and  sisters,  while  admitting  that  the  sacrifice 
was  loyal  and  right,  bade  good-by  to  the  dear  foys  they 
might  never  see  again.  The  mother's  tears  that  had 
dropped  on  the  soldier's  coat  sleeves  were  hardly  dry 
when  the  boys  rode  over  the  Main  Street  cobblestones 
in  Barney  Demarest's  rickety  old  stagecoach,  and  the 
influence  of  the  last  embrace  and  farewell  kiss  was 
still  upon  nearly  all. 

But  human  nature  is  buoyant.  Perhaps  it  was  to 
offset  the  gloomy  farewell  that  the  boys  soon  became 
boisterously  merry,  and  they  made  the  morning  air 
resound  with  their  shouts  and  their  hurrahs  and  their 
song  of 

"  We're  coming  Father  Abraham 
Three  hundred  thousand  more. " 

The  stage  was  gayly  decked  with  flags,  the  crowds  in 


THE  TO  UNO   VOLUNTEER.  15 

the  streets  shouted  a  hearty  farewell,  and  all  sorrowful 
thoughts  were  soon  drowned  in  the  noise  and  racket  that 
was  too  loud  to  permit  any  one  to  think.  A  similar 
noisy  demonstration  greeted  us  at  "Acquackanonk" 
(Passaic),  Bloomfield  and  Newark,  and  a  hurrah  arose 
from  the  throats  of  the  already  arrived  recruits  as  we 
drove  past  the  guards  at  the  entrance  to  Camp  Freling- 
huysen.  The  armed  guards  and  picket  line  around  the 
camp  was  another  evidence  that  we  were  no  longer  free 
men ;  but  we  did  not  fully  appreciate  that  fact  until 
later. 

And  yet  the  camp  presented  a  picturesque  appear- 
ance. The  colonel's  tent  stood  at  the  top  of  the  hill.  It 
was  a  large  and  commodious  canvas  house.  Near  by 
were  similar  but  smaller  tents  for  the  lieutenant-colonel, 
major,  adjutant  and  quartermaster.  Still  further  down 
was  a  long  row  of  still  smaller  tents,  occupied  by  the 
captains  and  lieutenants.  Running  at  right  angles 
from  the  latter  was  a  row  of  large,  circular  tents,  oc- 
cupied by  the  "enlisted  men"  of  each  company.  These 
were  known  as  "Sibley"  tents,  and  resembled  an  Indian 
tepee,  with  a  ventilator  at  the  top.  These  tents  would 
accommodate  fifteen  or  twenty  men.  In  our  innocence 
we  supposed  that  we  were  to  have  these  tents  right 
along  all  through  the  war.  For  all  that  we  knew,  all 
the  soldiers  in  the  army  had  the  same  commodious  and 
comfortable  quarters.  We  were  undeceived  on  this 
point,  however,  in  the  course  of  a  very  few  days. 

Shortly  after  our  arrival  we  were  taken  before  the 
regimental  surgeon  for  examination.  The  surgeon  was 
Dr.  J.  J.  II.  Lo-ve,  one  of  the  most  brusque-appearing 
and  yet  most  kind-hearted  men  that  ever  lived.  Until 
his  recent  death  he  was  one  of  the  most  respected  and 
prominent  residents  of  Monte  lair. 

"Strip,"  oidered  the  doctor. 

There  were  five  or  six  examined  at  a  time.  "We 
boys,  who  never  had  a  pain  or  qualm  in  our  lives, 
thought  it  was  a  needless  formality,  but  were  told  that 
it  was  '"according  to  the  regulations."  Then  the  doctor 
punched  us  and  pinched  us,  rubbed  his  hands  down  our 
legs  as  if  we  were  so  many  horses,  seized  us  in  the  groin 
and  told  us  to  cough,  and  finally  said: 


1Q  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

"Let's  see  youi  teeth?" 

"What  do  you  want  to  see  my  teeth  for?"  I  asked. 
"Are  we  to  bite  the  enemy?" 

"Something  tougher  than  that,"  good-naturedly  an- 
swered Dr.  Love.  "You  will  have  to  bite  hard-tack 
and  chew  cartridges,  and  I  guess  you  will  find  both 
tougher  than  any  rebel  meat  you  ever  will  see." 

I  didn't  know  then  that  hard-tack  was  the  stuff  sol- 
diers were  mainly  fed  upon;  but  I  found  out  before 
long.  For  the  information  of  the  reader  I  will  explain 
that  a  hard-tack  is  the  most  deceptive-looking  thing  in 
the  world.  Its  general  appearance  is  that  of  a  soda 
cracker,  but  there  the  resemblance  ends.  You  can  bite 
a  soda  cracker.  A  hard-tack  isn't  tender.  Compared 
with  it  a  block  of  granilite  paving  stones  would  be 
mush.  That  is  the  sort  of  pastry  the  government  fed 
its  soldiers  upon.  Hard -tack  must  have  been  referred 
to  in  that  part  of  the  Bible  where  it  says  "he  asked  for 
bread  and  they  gave  him  a  stone. "  A  further  corrob- 
oration of  this  conclusion  lies  in  the  positive  fact  that 
every  box  of  hard -tack  that  ever  arrived  in  the  army 
was  marked: 

"B.  C.  348,764," 

the  variation  being  only  in  the  figure.  The  "B.  C." 
was  on  every  box.  And  judging  from  the  antediluvian 
toughness  of  some  of  the  crackers,  the  prehistoric  ancient 
who  stencilled  on  the  figures  either  accidentally  or  wil- 
fully post  dated  the  box  several  thousand  years. 

What  "chewing  cartridges"  meant,  I  hadn't  the 
slightest  conception  of,  but  learned  that  subsequently. 
That  my  teeth  were  apparently  equal  to  the  emergency 
of  both  biting  hard-tack  and  chewing  cartridges,  how- 
ever, must  have  been  a  matter  satisfactory  to  Dr.  Love, 
for  I  successfully  passed  the  ordeal  of  a  "surgical  exami- 
nation. ' ' 

The  next  thing  was  to  go  to  the  quartermaster's  and 
get  our  uniform  and  equipments.  What  a  lot  of  things 
there  were! 

There  were  undershirts  and  drawers  and  thick  stock- 
ings, all  supposed  to  be  of  wool,  but  apparently  mainly 
composed  of  thistles  and  sticks — the  coarsest  things  a 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  17 

man  ever  put  next  to  his  skin.  And  it  was  midsummer 
at  that !  Then  there  were  a  pair  of  light  blue  trousers, 
a  dark  blue  blouse,  a  dark  blue  dress  coat,  a  heavy, 
caped  light  blue  overcoat,  a  knit  cardigan  jacket,  a  for- 
age cap,  a  heavy  woolen  blanket,  a  thick  rubber 
blanket,  and  a  pair  of  heavy  brogans.  These  were  the 
clothes.  Added,  to  this  were  a  knapsack,  a  haversack, 
a  canteen,  a  cartridge  belt,  a  bayonet  belt,  and  an  Enfield 
rifle. 

As  the  men  were  called  up,  the  clothing,  etc.,  were 
thrown  in  front  of  each  one  in  a  pile,  and  utterly  re- 
gardless of  fit  or  size.  When  the  recruits  repaired  to 
their  tents  and  donned  the  uniform,  they  presented  a 
ludicrous  appearance. 

"How  do  I  look,  boys?"  asked  Hank  Van  Orden,  as 
he  emerged  from  his  corner. 

"Hank"  was  a  sight  to  behold.  Nature  had  been 
generous  with  him  as  to  legs  and  arms,  and  as  luck 
would  have  it,  he  had  got  a  small-sized  suit.  The  bot- 
tom of  his  trousers  didn't  come  down  to  his  shoe  tops, 
while  his  arms  stuck  several  inches  beyond  the  end  of 
his  blouse  sleeves.  The  shoes  were  too  tight  and  his 
cap  was  stuck  on  the  back  of  his  head  in  a  comical 
fashion. 

"Don't  laugh  at  me.     Look  at  Heber,"  said  Hank. 

There  stood  Heber  Wells,  dressed  up  in  a  suit  Van 
Orden  ought  to  have  had.  His  trousers  were  turned  up 
at  the  bottom  like  a  dude's  of  the  present  day,  while 
the  sleeves  of  his  coat  fit  like  a  Chinaman's.  His  cap 
came  down  to  his  ears. 

Kobust  Abe  Godwin  couldn't  button  his  clothes  about 
him,  while  slim  Johnny  Nield  had  twice  as  much  uni- 
form as  he  wanted.  In  fact,  while  there  were  different- 
sized  suits,  no  man  had  got  a  suit  anywhere  near  fit- 
ting, and  a  more  incongruous  lot  of  noble  soldiers  could 
not  be  imagined.  Falstaff 's  army  was  simply  nowhere. 
But  the  difficulty  was  in  a  measure  overcome  by  ex- 
changing suits,  an  operation  that  took  nearly  all  the 
afternoon.  Still  they  didn't  fit.  But  nobody  but  a  raw 
recruit  would  spend  more  than  a  moment  thinking  about 
the  fit  of  his  uniform. 

The  clothes  were  awfully  uncomfortable.    The  ab- 


58  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

souce  of  a  vest  was  particularly  noticeable.  "Enlisted 
men"  in  the  army  never  wear  vests.  There  was  a  nasty 
smell  of  dye-stuff.  The  coarse  underclothes  tickled  and 
irritated,  the  heavy  brogan,  for  men  who  were  used  to 
gaiters  and  Oxford  ties,  were  disagreeably  clumsy. 
And,  above  all,  the  wearing  of  woolen  stockings  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  thick,  in  the  August  dog  days,  fairly 
capped  the  climax. 

"Fall  in  for  your  rations." 

Such  was  the  cry  we  heard  for  the  first  time,  about 
6  o'clock.  None  of  us  knew  what  "fall  in"  meant; 
but  Heber  Wells,  who  had  been  selected  as  orderly  ser- 
geant, told  us  it  was  to  get  into  a  line,  one  after  the 
other. 

"Forward  march!"  said  Heber. 

It  is  the  rule  in  the  army  to  step  off  first  with  the  left 
foot,  but  we  didn't  know  that.  Some  started  with  the 
left  and  some  with  the  right,  and  the  whole  line  came 
near  stumbling  over  each  other.  After  going  to  the 
lower  end  of  the  company  street,  the  new  orderly  cried 
out: 

"File  left." 

Heber  took  hold  of  the  leading  man  and  twirled  him 
to  the  left,  and  the  rest  of  us  followed.  Otherwise  none 
of  us  would  have  known  what  to  do. 

"Where  did  he  learn  so  much  military?"  was  the 
question  everybody  was  asking  about  Wells.  We  at 
once  began  to  look  to  him  as  a  marvel  of  tactical 
knowledge.  The  fact  is  this  was  all  the  tactics  Heber 
knew,  and  he  had  just  been  told  that  much ! 

The  "cook  hou.se,"  where  we  went  for  our  rations, 
wasn't  a  house  at  all.  It  was  all  outdoors.  A  couple 
of  forked  pieces  of  wood  held  a  horizontal  pole,  and  on 
this  were  three  or  four  big  sheet-iron  pails  or  kettles, 
under  which  a  cordwood  fire  was  burning,  with  much 
smoke.  There  was  a  similar  "cook  house"  at  the  lower 
end  of  each  company  street.  As  each  man  filed  past  he 
was  given  a  tin  cup,  filled  with  black  coffee  (no  milk) 
already  sweetened,  a  tin  plate  filled  with  beans  and 
pork,  and  a  hunk  cl  bread.  We  were  told  to  take  care 
of  our  "crockery,"  and  bring  them  to  the  cook  house 
whenever  "rations"  were  called. 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEPAl.  19 

"Where's  the  knife  and  fork  and  spoon?"  John  But- 
terworth  wanted  to  know. 

"You're  a  nice  fellow,"  replied  Jake  Engle,  "to 
think  soldiers  have  forks  and  spoons.  Use  your  fingers 
— they  were  made  before  forks."  Neither  were  there 
any  napkins. 

The  men  took  their  rations  and  sat  down  about  their 
tents  to  eat  their  first  meal  as  real  soldiers.  Coffee 
without  milk  was  not  very  palatable,  at  the  start,  but 
from  that  time  on,  for  many,  many  months,  the  major- 
ity of  these  soldier  boys  never  saw  such  a  thing  as  milk. 
Milkless  coffee  isn't  so  bad  when  one  is  once  used  to  it, 
and  coffee  was  the  mainstay  of  the  army.  What  a 
soldier  in  active  service  would  do  without  his  pint  of 
coffee  three  times  a  day,  is  a  serious  question. 

It  was  also  awkward  to  eat  pork  and  beans  without 
knife,  fork  or  spoon.  But  with  the  aid  of  pocket  knives, 
and  wooden  spoons  made  out  of  a  sliver  from  a  board,  the 
recruits  soon  learned  to  eat  soldier  fashion,  and  thej- 
soon  found  out,  also,  that  beans  spread  upon  bread  was 
a  fair  substitute  for  butter. 

What  a  picnic  it  was !  What  a  free,  airy  life !  Who 
wouldn't  be  a  soldier?  To  tell  the  truth,  the  novelty  of 
the  thing  was  interesting. 

After  supper  we  heard  some  sort  of  a  commotion  up 
by  Captain  Irish's  tent.  There  was  a  crowd  of  men 
standing  there,  from  the  midst  of  which,  at  frequent 
intervals,  there  was  a  momentary  glimpse  of  a  man 
being  projected  a  considerable  height  into  the  air.  It 
was  "initiation." 

"Come,  Joe,  you're  next,"  was  the  salute  I  got,  and 
before  I  could  remonstrate  I  was  seized  bodily  and 
thrown  headlong  upon  a  big  blanket,  surrounded  by  the 
men  who  were  holding  it.  The  blanket  hung  slack  in 
the  middle. 

"One!     Two!     Three!     Hip!" 

The  men  pulled  the  blanket  taut,  and  up  I  was  pro- 
jected, ten  or  fifteen  feet  into  the  air.  Coming  down, 
one  landed  head  first  or  feet  first  or  side\va3Ts,  just  as  it 
might  happen,  and  then,  up  again !  Three  times  was 
the  ordeal,  and  the  "candidate"  was  "initiated." 
Every  man  in  the  company  had  to  go  through  it. 


20  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

"Now  for  the  captain,"  cried  Hank  Van  Orden,  who 
seemed  to  be  the  ringleader. 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  Lieutenant  Scott,  with  dignity. 
"The  officers  are  exempt." 

"Guess  not,"  said  Hank,  and  over  went  Scott  into 
the  blanket. 

Captain  Irish  good-naturedly  offered  no  resistance,, 
and  he  was  tossed  also.  Poor  fellow,  he  little  knew 
that  in  less  than  a  month  his  dead  body  would  be  in 
possession  of  the  enemy  in  one  of  the  bloodiest  battle- 
fields of  the  war. 

The  same  "initiation"  was  being  enacted  all  along 
the  line,  and  as  there  were  seven  or  eight  hundred 
recruits  in  camp,  it  may  be  imagined  that  it  was  a  lively 
scene. 

Then  the  boys  gathered  around  their  tents,  or  the  cook 
fire,  smoked  their  pipes,  told  stories  and  sang  songs, 
until  9  o'clock,  when  the  "tattoo"  roll  was  called  and 
half  an  hour  later  a  few  single  strokes  on  the  drum  indi- 
cated "taps,"  and  lights  were  ordered  out. 

My  chum  that  night  was  John  Butterworth,  and 
when  he  prepared  for  "bed"  he  created  a  yell  of  laugh- 
ter by  saying: 

"Say,  boys,  I  forgot  to  bring  my  night  shirt." 

The  most  of  us,  however,  slept  in  all  our  clothes, 
except  our  coats  and  shoes.  With  a  blanket  under  us 
and  a  blanket;  over  us,  and  knapsacks  for  pillows  we 
were  quite  comfortable  as  to  warmth,  but  goodness, 
how  hard  the  ground  was !  It  was  the  first  time  I  had 
ever  slept  on  the  ground,  and  there  was  an  uncomfor- 
table dampness  that  came  from  it  that  was  not  pleasant, 
even  in  midsummer.  Through  the  flaps  of  the  tent 
and  the  ventilator  at  the  top  one  could  see  the  bright 
stars,  and  there  was  a  peculiar  outdoor  "looseness"  to 
the  sensation  that  was  quite  uncanny. 

As  for  sleeping !  Well,  with  the  cat  calls  and  shouts 
and  yells,  the  snatches  of  song,  and  cries  of  "Get  on 
your  own  side  of  the  bed,"  and  "Give  me  half  of  the 
sheet,  will  you?"  and  such  things,  the  hullabaloo  was 
kept  up  until  long  after  midnight.  And  after  that  the 
snoring  began.  All  sorts  of  snores.  Double  bass, 
tenor,  baritone.     Snores  like  a  grandfather  bull  frog 


THE  YOUITG    VOLUNTEER.  21 

and  snores  like  a  sick  calf's  bleat,  Snores  that  would 
awaken  the  dead  or  make  the  devil  laugh.  You  never 
heard  such  a  miscellaneous  job  lot  of  snores  in  your  life. 
But  all  things  have  an  end,  and  even  the  outrageous 
snoring  finally  produced  such  a  soporific  effect  that  we 
all  slept  soundly. 


22  TEE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  III. 
"fall  in." 

We  were  aroused  at  an  outlandishly  early  hour 
by  an  indescribable  conglomeration  of  discords  outside 
somewhere.  All  the  boys,  as  they  tried  to  untangle 
their  stiffened  limbs  from  the  blankets,  rubbed  their 
eyes  in  an  uncertain,  mystified  way  that  was  very 
comical. 

It  was  a  strange  feeling.  Where  were  we?  What 
noise  was  that?  What  makes  the  bedroom  look  so  mar- 
velously  unfamiliar  this  morning?  Are  we  dreaming? 
Who  are  all  these  men  lying  and  stretching  about? 
And  all  in  bed  with  their  clothes  on — blue  clothes. 

Is  it  a  dream?  Is  the  dim  remembrance  of  doing 
something  unusual — of  entering  into  a  new  life — actual 
reality,  or  have  we  had  the  nightmare?  Let's  see.  Did 
we  enlist  into  the  army  yesterday,  or  didn't  we?  The 
other  men  are  kicking  off  the  blankets,  reaching  for 
their  shoes,  rubbing  their  half -opened  eyes,  and  grunting 
and  groaning  from  the  stiffness  caused  by  the  hard  bed 
and  damp  earth,  and  again  there  is  that  discordant 
racket  outside. 

It  is  the  first  attempt  of  the  new  fifer  and  drummer 
to  sound  the  reveille — the  "get  up  bell"  we  were  des- 
tined to  hear  every  morning  for  three  years — "unless 
sooner  discharged."  No  wonder  such  an  outrageous 
musical  attempt  woke  us  up.  It  was  enough  to  awaken 
the  dead. 

"Reveille— Fall  in  for  roll  call." 

It  was  the  voice  of  Heber  Wells,  the  orderly  sergeant. 

"Refillee?  Vot'sdot,  alretty?"  asked  John  Ick,  who 
was  destined  to  become  the  funniest  Dutchman,  most 
awkward  recruit,  unceasing  and  chronic  kicker  in  the 
company,  and  yet  one  of  the  bravest  of  soldiers  in  action. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  23 

Poor  fellow,  he  fell  early,  pierced  by  a  rebel  bullet. 
But  John  was  as  ignorant  as  the  rest  of  us  on  military 
orders,  and  "reveille"  was  something  new. 

"I  tole  you  vot  dot  vash,"  said  he.  "Dot  vas  brek- 
fasht." 

And  he  got  his  tin  plate  and  cup,  and  piled  out  with 
the  crowd.  A  lot  of  others  were  similarly  equipped,  to 
the  intense  astonishment  of  Captain  Irish,  who  had 
turned  out  to  see  the  first  reveille  roll  call. 

"Fall  in — fall  in  according  to  size,"  was  the  order. 

This  meant  that  the  men  should  get  in  a  line,  with 
the  tallest  man  at  the  head  of  the  class  and  the  shortest 
one  at  the  foot.  Hank  Van  Orden  thus  stood  at  the 
right  of  the  line  and  Sandy  Kidd  at  the  left,  and  the 
captain  told  us  that  ever  after  we  were  to  get  ourselves 
together  in  that  shape  whenever  we  heard  the  order  to 
"Fall  in." 

The  roll  was  called.  It  was  a  sleepy  looking  crowd 
— 'there  were  about  ninety — and  as  a  matter  of  fact  the 
soldiers  were  always  a  sleepy  lot  at  reveille  roll  call. 
Before  dismissing  the  company,  after  finding  all  the 
members  ■" present  or  accounted  for,''  Orderly  Wells 
picked  out  ten  men  to  do  "police duty."  The  rest  of  us 
were  for  the  present  dismissed. 

A  matutinal  ablution  is  naturally  one  of  the  first 
duties  of  every  man.  Soldiers  are  no  exception.  Then 
we  began  for  the  first  time  to  experience  the  utter  inad- 
equacy of  the  toilet  accommodations  supplied  by  Uncle 
Sam  to  his  brave  defenders.  There  were  not  many 
houses  provided  with  the  luxury  of  a  bathroom  in  those 
days ;  but  the  most  of  us  at  least  had  become  used  to  the 
accommodations  of  a  washbowl  and  pitcher  and  a  clean 
towel.  We  hadn't  even  the  towel.  The  canal  at  the 
foot  of  the  camp,  however,  afforded  an  all-sufficient 
supply  of  water,  and  the  tails  or  sleeves  of  our  coats 
served  as  towels.  Johnny  Nield  had  a  pocket  comb, 
and  that  was  passed  around. 

We  went  up  to  see  hew  the  new  policemen  were  get- 
ting along — the  ten  men  who  had  been  picked  out  to  do 
"police  duty."  We  naturally  supposed  that  meant  to 
stand  guard  around  the  camp  and  look  fierce;  but  it 
wasn't.     To  "police"  a  camp  means  to  clean  it  up. 


2-i  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

You've  seen  the  street  department  gang  with  their 
brooms  and  hoes  cleaning  the  dirt  out  of  the  gutters. 
Well,  that,  in  army  parlance,  is  fe' police  duty."  If  a 
real  policeman  were  called  upon  to  perform  that  "duty" 
he  would  kick  like  a  steer.  Whoever  heard  of  a  police- 
man working? 

The  new  recruits  "kicked,"  too,  hut  it  was  no  use. 
There  was  a  bookkeeper  from  one  of  the  mills,  two  Main 
Street  dry  goods  clerks  with  soft  hands,  a  printer  and  a 
cotton  manufacturer  working  for  dear  life  in  the  "chain 
gang"  as  thej*  were  dubbed,  and  bossed  by  a  sergeant 
who  used  to  sell  beer  in  a  Dublin  gin  mill.  Oh,  but  it 
was  galling. 

That  was  one  of  the  hardest  features  of  army  life — to 
fall  under  the  command  of  an  officer  who  was  in  every 
way — except  for  his  straps  or  stripes — your  inferior. 
Such  men,  feeling  for  the  first  time  the  pleasures  of 
autocracy,  were  the  most  cruel  and  relentless  taskmas- 
ters. But  they  had  to  be  obeyed.  Such  was  discipline. 
The  first  duty  of  a  soldier  is  obedience — no  matter  if 
your  "superior  officer"  be  an  ignorant,  boorish  bully 
you  wouldn't  have  recognized  in  civil  life.  My  old 
employer  had  said  it  was  a  good  thing  for  me  to  go  into 
the  army,  because  I  needed  discipline.  I  would  never 
recognize  a  "boss,"  and  was  the  most  independent 
young  American  in  the  United  States.  That  was  some- 
thing the  army  life  would  cure  me  of.  My  old  em- 
ployer was  right.  I  soon  had  the  independence  knocked 
out  of  me.  I  was  soon  thoroughly  "disciplined."  But 
in  that  respect,  doubtless,  I  have  since  retrograded. 

"Fall  in  for  rations,"  was  the  next  order,  and  John 
Ick  made  another  dive  for  his_  tin  plate  and  cup.  He 
was  perennially  hungry,  was  John. 

"Itsch  'vail  in'  ail  de  times,"  said  he,  "but  I  don'd 
mind  him  a  little  ven  dot  means  some  tings  to  eat,  ain't 
it?" 

The  breakfast  was  like  the  supper  the  night  before, 
with  the  exception  that  boiled  beef  was  substituted  for 
the  pork  and  beans.  Somehow  it  didn't  seem  very 
tasty.  We  missed  the  customary  muffins  and  chops 
and  eggs,  and  the  cream  in  our  coffee.  But  still  it  went. 
It  had  to.  It  was  that  or  nothing.  No  sooner  was 
breakfast  over  than  it  was  again : 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER,  25 

"Fall  in,  Company  K!" 

This  time  it  was  to  pick  out  a  detail  for  guard  duty, 
and  the  ten  men  selected  were  instructed  to  be  ready  to 
fall  in  again  a  little  before  9  o'clock,  "fully  armed  and 
equipped."  I  escaped  this  "draft,"  but  with  the  others 
anxiously  awaited  the  time  to  see  the  first  "guard 
mount." 

A  little  before  9  o'clock  a  drum  beat  called  out  the 
guard  detail — and  there  appeared  the  ten  men  "fully 
armed  and  equipped."  They  had  on  everything  the 
government  had  given  them.  Although  a  midsummer 
evening,  they  perspired  under  their  heavy  overcoats. 
They  had  their  knapsacks,  haversacks  and  canteens, 
their  belts  and  ammunition  boxes  and  their  muskets — ■ 
all  ready  to  go  to  war.  It  was  a  funny  sight.  Some 
of  the  knapsacks  were  perched  upon  the  shoulders  like 
the  hump  of  a  hunchback,  while  others  hung  at  the 
bottom  of  the  back,  like  a  "Grecian  bend.''  Two  of 
the  men  carried  their  haversacks  in  their  left  hands,  as 
if-  they  were  satchels. 

Even  the  captain  had  to  laugh.  He  explained  to 
them  that  they  only  required  their  blouses  and  arms, 
and  told  them  to  leave  their  knapsacks,  haversacks,  and 
canteens  in  the  tents.  After  some  coaching  they  were 
finally  arranged  right  and  formed  into  line. 

"Now,"  said  Sergeant  Wells,  "all  you  have  got  to 
do  is  to  follow  your  file  leader." 

"Yot  vash  dot  vile  leeder,  Mr.  Wells?"  asked  John 
Ick. 

"Don't  talk  while  in  the  ranks.  Don't  you  know 
better  than  that?"  asked  Wells,  with  a  comical  as- 
sumption of  insulted  dignity. 

"Dot's  all  ri-et,  Mister  Wells.  Dot's  all  riet;  but 
how  in  du.nderwedder  we  don't  know  some  tings  ven 
we  don't  ask  nobotty  already?" 

Without  deigning  to  reply  the  orderly  gave  the  order 
to  "right  face,."  and  twirled  Hank  Van  Orden  around 
to  the  right.     Then  began  the  command  : 

' '  Forward,  march ! ' ' 

And  taking  Hank  by  the  elbow,  he  led  him  as  he 
would  a  team  of  oxen,  around  the  head  of  the  company 
street  and  toward  the  place  in  the  middle  of  the  camp 


£G  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

where  a  fife  was  tooting  and  a  drum  beating,  and  an 
already  assembled  crowd  indicated  that  something  was 
going  on.  The  appearance  of  Company  K's  guard 
detail  on  that  occasion  was  like  a  crowd  of  political 
heelers  marching  toward  a  barroom  on  the  invitation  of 
the  candidates.  There  would  be  just  about  as  much 
military  precision  in  the  latter  as  there  was  in  the 
former. 

Here  let  me  explain.  The  Thirteenth  Regiment  was 
recruited  in  Newark,  Orange,  Belleville,  *Montclair, 
Bloomfield,  Caldwell,  Mill  burn,  Jersey  City  and  Pater- 
son.  There  were  two  companies  from  Paterson — Com- 
pany C,  commanded  by  Captain  Ityerson,  and  Com- 
pany K,  by  Captain  Irish.  Not  more  than  two  com- 
panies were  from  one  place,  so  that  to  a  great  degree 
the  men  were  strangers  to  each  other.  The  extent  of 
friendship  from  previous  acquaintance  was  consequently 
limited,  but  nine  or  ten  hundred  men  who  were  thus 
brought  together  soon  became  quite  well  acquainted 
with  each  other. 

Ten  men  from  each  of  the  ten  companies,  one  hun- 
dred altogether,  had  been  detailed  for  guard  duty  that 
day.  The  other  eight  hundred  or  so  gathered  around 
as  spectators. 

Colonel  Carman  stood  on  one  side  of  the  field,  gor- 
geously attired,  with  a  ferocious  look  on  his  face.  He 
had  already  served  some  time  in  an  official  position  in 
another  regiment,  and  was  regarded  as  a  veteran.  Be- 
fore the  war  Colonel  Carman  was  an  humble  clerk  in 
some  New  York  store.  So  he  was,  I  understand,  after 
the  departure  of  his  military  glory ;  but  he  has  since 
then  been  honored  by  being  made  commissioner  in 
charge  of  the  Antietam  battlefield. 

But  the  colonel  certainly  looked  ferocious  and  brave 
enough  that  morning  to  whip  the  whole  rebel  army 
alone.  A  short  distance  in  front  of  him  was  Adjutant 
Charles  A.  Hopkins  (now  New  England  agent  of  the 
Mutual  Life  Insurance  Company,  and  worth  half  a 
million,  it  is  said).  Now  there  is  always  something 
fussy  and  featherish  about  an  adjutant,  and  Lieutenant 
Hopkins  was  no  exception;  but  under  his  showy  ex- 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  27 

terior  there  was  as  true  and  brave  and  sympathetic  a 
heart  as  ever  beat  against  the  padded  breast  of  a  mili- 
tary officer. 

The  adjutant  is  usually  the  boss  of  a  guard  mount. 
The  presence  of  the  colonel,  occasionally,  is  to  add  im- 
pressiveness  and  dignity.  In  actual  service  his  place  is 
usually  substituted  by  the  red-sashed  officer  who  has 
been  detailed  as  "officer  of  the  day."  He  is  the  general 
superintendent  and  high-cock-a-lorum  of  the  camp  for 
the  twenty-four  hours  for  which  he  is  appointed.  An 
inferior  officer,  usually  a  lieutenant,  is  similarly  selected 
as  "officer  of  the  guard." 

But  the  "guard  mount"  was  about  to  begin,  and  we 
watched  the  proceeding  with  all  the  eyes  we  had. 


28  THE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

GUARD  MOUNT  AND  DRILL. 

This  chapter  does  not  purpose  to  be  an  accurate  de- 
scription of  the  details  of  military  tactics.  I  will  only 
describe  the  "guard  mount"  as  I  then  saw  it — as  it 
would  appear  to  any  person  for  the  first  time. 

The  positions  of  the  principal  officers  were  described 
in  the  preceding  chapter.  Down  in  the  field  further, 
drawn  up  in  a  line,  were  ten  fifers  and  ten  drummers 
playing  for  dear  life.  It  was  the  first  time  they  had 
played  together,  and  the  orchestral  effects  were  any- 
thing but  harmonious.  These  musicians  seemed  to  be 
the  central  cluster  or  nucleus  around  which  the  others 
were  to  gather,  like  a  lot  of  bees  swarming. 

From  every  company  street  there  marched,  or  rather 
straggled,  a  squad  of  ten  soldiers,  commanded — perhaps 
I  should  say  led — by  a  sergeant.  The  first  gang 
marched  around  until  it  came  to  the  musicians.  Then 
another  ten  would  come  along  until  it  reached  the  tail 
end  of  the  first,  and  so  on,  until  the  whole  ten  times  ten 
were  standing  in  a  row  or  string. 

It  would  have  made  an  old  army  officer  drop  dead  to 
see  the  way  the  men  were  carrying  their  muskets. 
They  had  had  no  drill.  Half  of  them  had  never  before 
seen,  let  alone  handled,  a  rifle.  Some  carried  them  on 
one  shoulder  and  some  on  the  other.  Here  you  would 
see  a  gun  held  up  stiff  and  straight  like  a  flagstaff,  and 
the  next  man  would  hold  it  jauntily  in  the  crook  of  his 
elbow.  The  "line"  was  about  as  near  being  straight  as 
a  horseshoe.     Somebody  yelled : 

"Front!" 

One  of  the  boys  who  had  once  served  in  a  hotel  office 
was  at  the  point  of  rushing  forward,  but  he  could  see  no 
counter  to  run  to.     No  one  else  stirred. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  29 

"Front!"  again  commanded  the  adjutant.  But  still 
nobody  moved,  except  to  look  helplessly  at  his  com- 
panion. Many  of  them  thought  maybe  it  was  the  army 
way  of  saying  grace,  or  something  of  that  sort.  No  one 
had  ever  heard  "Front"  before.  The  adjutant  became 
excited. 

"All  turn  this  way,  and  look  at  me,"  shouted  the 
adjutant. 

"Vy  dond  you  say  dod  pefore,"  cried  out  John  Ick. 

"Silence  in  the  ranks.  When  I  say  'Front,'  you 
turn  to  the  front,  that's  all." 

"Dot's  all  ri-et,  Mister  Hopkins,"  replied  John  Ick. 
"I'se  a  lookin'  at  you,  don't  it?" 

"Silence!"  yelled  the  officer,  "or  you'll  go  to  the 
guardhouse." 

"Can't  a  man  say  nottings  all  the  time?"  murmured 
Ick. 

Poor  John !  He  was  marched  off  to  the  guardhouse, 
whatever  that  meant.  None  of  us  knew.  It  must  be 
something  awful. 

"Dress  up!" 

Not  a  man  stirred. 

"Dress  up,  I  say.  Dress  to  the  right!"  commanded 
the  adjutant,  and  stepping  up  to  the  end  of  the  string 
he  looked  along  the  edge  and  gave  the  order  again: 

"Eight— dress!" 

Every  man  looked  carefully  over  himself.  Every- 
body seemed  to  have  on  his  right  dress !  They  were  all 
dressed  right.  They  were  looking  everywhere  except 
to  the  right. 

"What  a  lot  of  idiots,"  shouted  Lieutenant  Hopkins. 
"Just  turn  your  eyes  this  way  and  get  into  a  straight 
line."  A  general  shuffle  was  the  result.  There  was 
some  sort  of  a  commotion  in  Company  K's  detachment. 

"What's  the  matter  here?"  asked  the  adjutant,  com- 
ing over.     "Why  don't  you  get  in  a  straight  line?" 

"Can't,"  replied  Davy  Harris.  "Just  look  at  John 
Snyder's  nose!" 

"Silence  in  the  ranks!" 

"See  here,"  asked  Lem  Smith,  "am  I  to  take  my 
bearings  from  Pop  Farlow's  fat  belly,  or  from  that 
spindle-shanked  Anderson?' ' 


30  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

"Silence  in  the  ranks,  or  you'll  go  to  the  guard- 
house," was  the  only  reply. 

Silence  resulted.  One  man  was  already  in  the  guard- 
house, and  an  awful  ignorance  of  what  sort  of  horrible 
torture  he  might  at  that  moment  be  undergoing  made 
the  warning  sufficient. 

Finally  the  adjutant  got  the  men  tolerably  straight, 
and  then  the  drummers  and  fifers  marched  down  in 
front  of  the  line,  turned  around  and  marched  back 
again,  playing  "When  Johnnie  Comes  Marching  Home 
Again"  the  while.  Then  the  adjutant  stepped  for- 
ward, turned  on  his  heel,  turned  to  the  left,  marched 
along  to  the  middle  of  the  parade,  turned  on  his  heel  to 
the  right,  marched  a  few  paces  toward  the  colonel,  and 
then  turned  completely  around  as  if  on  a  pivot.  He 
gave  the  order  to  "Present  arms!" 

But  no  pretense  was  made  of  obeying  it,  inasmuch  as 
no  one  in  the  ranks  knew  the  difference  between  present 
arms  and  a  lame  leg.  But  just  as  if  it  had  all  been 
done  according  to  Hoyle,  or  rathor  according  to 
Hardee,  the  adjutant  turned  around  facing  the  colonel, 
and  bringing  his  sword  up  to  his  nose,  dropped  it  with 
a  curving  sweep,  like  a  farmer  with  a  scythe.  The 
adjutant  said  something  to  the  colonel  and  the  colonel 
said  something  to  the  adjutant,  and  some  orders  were 
given  which  no  one  understood. 

Then  with  much  confusion  and  trouble  the  men  in  the 
line  were  twisted  around  into  platoons  and  marched 
past  the  colonel  in  about  the  order  of  a  mob  coming  out 
of  a  circus,  and  then  off  to  the  guardhouse.  As  a  mili- 
tary maneuver  it  was  simply  atrocious.  Had  Kaiser 
Wilhelm  been  there  he  would  have  thrown  himself  into 
the  canal  with  ineffable  disgust.  But  the  spectators 
thought  it  was  grand.  When  the  Thirteenth  Regiment 
got  to  the  front  and  the  enemy  saw  what  they  could  do, 
the  rebellion  would  be  speedily  ended !  Indeed,  had  the 
Confederates  witnessed  a  guard  mount  like  that  they 
would  have  thought  it  some  new  sort  of  tactics  they 
didn't  understand,  and  would  doubtless  have  immedi- 
ately surrendered. 

The  guards  were  put  on  duty  around  the  camp.  In 
the  army  the  men  go  on  guard  duty  for  two  hours  and 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  Si 

have  a  four-hour  rest,  and  then  go  on  again,  and  so  on 
for  the  twenty -four  hours.  The  duty  of  the  guards  was 
to  let  no  one  out  of  the  camp,  without  a  pass,  and  no 
visitors  in — except  at  the  gates. 

We  fellows  who  were  not  on  guard  were  congratula- 
ting ourselves  with  having  nothing  to  do  when  suddenly 
there  was  another  drum  beat,  followed  by  the  order : 

"Fall  in,  Company  K,  for  drill!" 

The  men  hastily  put  on  their  belts,  picked  up  their 
guns,  and  ran  out  to  "get  into  a  string,"  which  we  had 
learned  by  this  time  was  the  proper  thing  to  do  on  hear- 
ing the  order  to  "fall  in."  A  sergeant  who  had  served 
three  months  already  and  was  therefore  supposed  to 
know  all  about  war,  was  detailed  to  instruct  us.  He 
was  an  arrogant  brute,  as  such  men  usually  are,  and 
gave  his  orders  as  if  we  were  slaves. 

Many  a  man's  face  flushed  at  being  called  "fool," 
"idiot,"  and  worse  names,  when  the  sergeant  became 
angry  with  our  clumsiness  and  awkwardness.  When 
we  started  we  thought  a  "file"  was  something  used  by 
machinists,  a  "wheel"  was  part  of  the  running  gear  of 
a  wagon,  and  that  when  the  order  was  to  "shoulder 
arms,"  it  meant  to  hold  our  guns  on  our  shoulders,  in- 
stead of  holding  them  straight  up  at  our  sides.  It*bad 
been  "carry"  arms,  under  the  "Hardee"  tactics,  but 
Casey's  revision  was  just  being  introduced,  and  the 
same  movement  was  designated  as  "shoulder  arms." 

But  how  that  relentless  sergeant  did  drill  us !  He 
made  us  handle  the  guns  in  different  shapes  until  they 
seemed  to  weigh  half  a  ton,  and  our  arms  ached.  And 
he  marched  us  up  and  down  and  hither  and  thither 
until  we  were  completely  tired  out  with  the  unwonted 
exercise.  It  was  in  dog  days,  too,  and  the  hot  clothing 
and  thick,  scratchy  shirts  made  us  perspire  until  we 
were  soaked.  Being  a  soldier  wasn't  so  much  fun  after 
all.  We  were  glad  enough  when  finally,  at  noon,  we 
were  dismissed  for  our  dinner. 

With  the  exception  of  soup  for  the  main  dish,  dinner 
was  similar  to  the  other  meals.  We  were  beginning  to 
get  it  through  our  heads  that  the  prospects  were  bad  for 
any  very  great  variety  in  the  menu.  But  it  "went," 
for  we  were  hungry,  and  our  post  prandial  briar  wood 


32  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

pipes  were  hugely  enjoyed.  Just  as  we  were  thinking 
of  'crawling  into  the  tent  for  a  snooze,  again  came  that 
everlasting  order : 

"Fall  in  for  drill!" 

This  was  too  much !  What,  drill  twice  a  day?  We 
would  speak  to  the  captain  about  it. 

But  the  afternoon  drill  was  worse  yet,  for  it  was  a 
regimental  drill — that  is  a  drill  of  the  entire  regiment 
together.  The  colonel,  who  had  seen  some  service, 
bossed  this  job.  Now  in  a  regimental  drill  a  fellow  has 
to  walk  about  ten  times  as  much  as  in  a  company  drill, 
and  we  were  soon  so  tired  that  we  couldn't  go  any  more. 

The  colonel  saw  this,  and  gave  us  some  more  instruc- 
tion in  the  manual  of  arms,  and  for  the  first  time  showed 
us  how  to  load  the  guns. 

"Load  in  nine  times — load." 

Such  was  the  order.  We  had  been  served  with  blank 
cartridges,  and  were  told  to  simply  go  through  the 
motion  of  loading.  But  Sandy  Kidd  failed  to  hear  this, 
and  before  he  was  discovered  he  had  loaded  his  guns 
nine  times — that  is,  put  nine  cartridges  into  the  barrel. 
What  the  nine  "times"  meant  was  the  nine  different 
motions  that  are  necessary  in  loading  a  gun  according 
to  the  tactics.  During  the  latter  part  of  the  drill  the 
colonel  thought  he  would  see  how  the  regiment  would 
do  in  an  actual  shoot.  So  he  marched  us  around  by  the 
canal  and  once  more  went  through  the  process  of  "load- 
ing in  nine  times." 

Then  I  discovered  why  Dr.  Love  had  so  carefully 
examined  our  teeth.  One  of  the  orders  was  to  "tear 
cartridges. "  Now  the  cartridges  of  those  days  were  not 
the  metallic  affairs  used  at  the  present  time.  Breech- 
loading  guns  had  hardly  been  introduced  and  our  old 
muskets  were  loaded  at  the  muzzle,  like  an  old-fashioned 
shotgun.  The  cartridges  containing  the  powder  were 
made  of  paper.  It  was  a  thick  brown  paper,  as  tough 
as  is  used  in  a  hardware  store.  One  had  to  insert  the 
end  of  the  cartridge  between  the  teeth  and  tear  it  open. 
Nothing  but  the  stoutest  teeth  could  stand  this  ordeal. 
And,  ugh !  how  salt  and  nasty  the  powder  tasted ! 

But  we  are  finally  loaded,  cocked  and  primed.  In 
order  to  make  a  grander  effect  for  the  assembled  audi- 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  33 

ence,  we  were  strung  along  the  towpath  of  the  canal. 
Then  the  colonel  gave  the  order : 

"Ready!  Aim!— Fire!" 

Now  I  had  never  shot  off  a  gun  in  my  life.  I  only 
knew  you  had  to  hold  it  up  to  the  shoulder  and  pull  the 
trigger.  When  the  colonel  said  "aim"  my  hands  shook 
in  a  manner  that  would  have  made  it  perfectly  safe  for 
a  man  to  stand  directly  in  front  of  the  muzzle.  When 
the  order  came  to  "fire"  I  shut  my  eyes  tight  and  pulled 
the  trigger ! 

Bang! 

Was  I  kicked  by  a  mule?  A  stinging  blow  on  my 
right  shoulder  nearly  knocked  me  off  my  feet,  and  I 
thought  my  arm  was  dislocated.  For  a  moment  I 
feared  I  was  shot  myself.  I  never  knew  before  that  a 
gun  "kicked."  It  was  simply  the  "kick"  of  the 
musket  on  being  discharged.  But  it  was  a  surprise 
party  for  me. 

The  first  man  to  "fall  in  an  engagement"  in  the 
Thirteenth  Regiment  was  Sandy  Kidd.  When  the 
rackety  "volley,"  about  as  simultaneous  as  a  pack  of 
exploding  firecrackers,  had  stopped,  there  lay  Sandy 
Kidd,  sprawling  on  his  back  at  the  bottom  of  the  tow- 
path. 

He  had  shot  off  all  the  nine  cartridges  in  his  gun  at 
once! 


34  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  V, 

MUSTERED   IN — DESERTED. 

Before  the  regimental  drill  was  dismissed,  Colonel 
Carman  had  announced  that  "dress  parade"  would  be 
dispensed  with  that  afternoon.  Goodness,  was  there 
anything  more?     Is  a  soldier'3  work  never  done? 

No,  never.  From  that  time  on,  during  all  the  years 
of  service,  whenever  in  camp,  there  was  that  same  ever- 
lasting routine  of  guard  mount,  and  squad  or  company 
drill  in  the  morning,  and  a  regimental  or  "battalion" 
drill  (as  it  was  mora  commonly  called)  in  the  afternoon, 
winding  up  with  the  perennial  dress  parade  at  4  or  6 
o'clock.  A  "dress  parade"  is  a  guard  mount  on  a 
larger  scale,  and  is  the  formal  display  of  "the  pomp  and 
panoply  of  war."  But  so  many  people  are  familiar 
with  "dress  parades"  that  it  is  unnecessary  to  describe 
them. 

We  were  awfully  tired  that  night;  but  we  were 
aroused  to  interest  by  the  announcement  that  on  that 
evening  we  would  "elect  our  officers." 

What  a  farce!  No  one  in  the  army  ever  has  a  chance 
to  vote  for  officers.  The  "election"  simply  consisted  in 
the  reading  of  a  pronunciamento  or  order  that  Hugh  C. 
Irish  had  been  elected  captain;  James  G.  Scott,  first 
lieutenant,  and  so  on,  and  that  the  captain  had  selected 
"the  following  sergeants  and  corporals."  And  at  the 
end  of  it  was  "Approved — Ezra  A.  Carman,  Colonel 
Commanding;  Charles  A.  Hopkins,  First  Lieutenant 
and  Adjutant."  That  is  the  way  we  "elected"  our 
officers. 

There  was  little  variation  in  camp  life  for  several 
days.  It  was  the  same  old  routine  of  guard  mount  and 
drill,  and  "fall  in  for  rations."  We  began  to  get  used 
to  the  unwonted  exercise  and  the  outdoor  air  and  work 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  35 

was  hardening  the  muscles  and  improving  the  general 
health. 

There  was  a  constant  stream  of  visitors,  including 
many  ladies;  and  the  latter  came  around  to  the  tents 
and  chatted  to  "the  boys"  with  an  unconventional 
familiarity  and  sisterly  affection  utterly  unknown  in 
ordinary  life.  This  was  a  new  phase  of  existence  that 
was  very  interesting.  They  brought  us  many  luxuries, 
and  some  of  the  boys  received  big  boxes  from  home, 
containing  pies  and  cakes  and  other  toothsome  things 
that  greatly  enhanced  our  bill  of  fare.  And  there  was 
a  continuous  round  of  pranks  and  practical  jokes  and 
song  singing  and  amateur  entertainments  in  the  even- 
ing, till  at  last  we  were  constrained  to  exclaim:  "Well, 
this  is  a  picnic!" 

On  August  24,  1862,  the  announcement  was  made 
that  on  the  following  afternoon  the  Thirteenth  Regi- 
ment would  be  "mustered  in."  This  was  something 
new,  and  created  great  excitement. 

When  a  man  "enlists  '  he,  so  to  speak,  gets  into  his 
coffin.  When  he  is  "mustered,"  Undertaker  Uncle 
Sam  has  put  on  the  lid  and  screwed  it  down.  When  a 
man  deserts  the  service  after  being  "mustered  in"  he  is 
shot. 

About  3  o'clock  the  next  afternoon  the  regiment  was 
drawn  up  as  if  in  dress  parade.  While  somewhat  im- 
proved in  military  movements  from  the  four  or  five  days 
drill,  yet  it  was  anything  but  an  imposing  spectaclo 
from  a  professional  point  of  view.  The  line  was  strag- 
gling and  broken  and  uncertain,  and  there  was  a  pain- 
ful absence  of  that  self-possessed  nonchalance  that  char- 
acterizes the  experienced  soldier.  But  there  we  stood, 
037  of  us — 38  officers  and  899  non-commissioned  officers 
and  privates,  at  parade  rest,  with  the  perspiration 
trickling  down  our  faces  and  we  forbidden  to  wipe  it 
off! 

From  the  knot  of  officers  gathered  at  the  flank  of  the 
parade  stepped  forth  one  more  gorgeous,  more  self- 
possessed,  more  airish  than  the  others.  Ah !  he  was  a 
man  who  understood  his  business!  He  must  be  a 
major-general  at  least ! 

Bah !     The  single  strip  of  bullion  at  the  end  of  his 


36  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

shoulder  straps  indicated  that  he  was  nothing  but  a  first 
lieutenant !  And  yet  he  was  a  First  Lieutenant  with  a 
capital  *'L"  and  a  still  bigger  "F." 

Maybe  you  don't  understand  the  awful  dignity  that 
surrounded  a  "mustering  officer,"  like  a  dazzling  halo! 
As  the  drum-major  of  a  band  is  more  gorgeous  in 
make-up  than  the  colonel  of  a  regiment,  so  is  a  muster- 
ing officer  more  indescribably  magnificent  in  general 
bearing  than  the  commander  of  the  whole  army.  The 
chief  qualification  of  a  mustering  officer  seemed  to  be 
his  capacity  for  putting  on  airs. 

The  more  airs  he  could  put  on  the  better.  No  soldier 
ever  heard  of  a  plain,  unassuming,  courteous  mustering 
officer.     It  is  his  business  to  be  otherwise. 

The  irridescent  specimen  of  military  grandeur  that 
dazzled  our  eyes  and  filled  our  hearts  with  apprehension, 
as  if  we  were  the  serfs  and  he  the  czar,  was,  we  were 
told, ' '  Louis  D.  Watkins,  First  Lieutenant,  Fifth  United 
States  Cavalry."  A  regular  officer.  Phew!  A  West 
Point  graduate,  perhaps.  And  a  cavalry  officer  too. 
The  cavalry  officers  always  considered  themselves  so 
much  higher  than  infantry  officers.  In  reality  they 
were,  in  the  march — about  five  feet  higher — when 
mounted. 

Behind  him  was  a  private  soldier  with  his  rifle  and 
another  carrying  the  rolls  of  the  regiment,  on  which 
was  every  man's  name,  the  color  of  his  eyes  and  hair, 
his  height,  complexion,  color,  age,  and  "previous  con- 
dition of  servitude." 

"At-ten-shun!"  commanded  he,  with  that  peculiar 
inflexion  only  attainable  after  considerable  service. 

"Hats  off!" 

"Hands  up!" 

When,  after  much  confusion,  it  was  arranged  that 
each  man  held  his  hat  in  his  left  hand  and  upheld  his 
right,  the  mustering  officer  began : 

"Eepeat  after  me  the  following  oath:  I,  Louis  D. 
Watkins " 

"I,  Louis  D.  Watkins,"  came  the  grand  chorus  from 
the  assembled  thousand.  I  don't  know  how  they  ever 
came  to  do  it  so  well  in  concert.  It  sounded  as  if  it- 
came  from  one  gigantic  throat. 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  37 

"No — no — no,"  interrupted  the  mustering  officer. 
"Each  man  say  his  own  name.  Now,  I,  John  Smith — 
or  whatever  it  may  be." 

A  low  murmur  of  many  names  followed,  as  each  man 
pronounced  his  own,  followed  by  "whatever  it  may 
be."  John  Ick  was  slow  of  comprehension,  and  he 
came  out  behind  all  the  rest,  and  it  made  everybody 
laugh  to  hear  his 

"May  pe!" 

Lieutenant  Watkins  pretended  not  to  notice  this  un- 
necessary addition  to  the  oath,  but  went  on : 

"Do  solemnly " 

"Solemnly,"  chorused  the  regiment. 

— "Emly,"  from  John  Ick. 

"Swear  that  I  will  bear — "  continued  the  mustering 
officer. 

The  regiment  responded,  while  loud  and  husky  came 
John  Ick  with  his 

—"Bear." 

"True  faith  and  allegiance." 

The  nine  hundred  responded  on  schedule  time — all 
but  John  Ick,  who  nearly  upset  the  whole  business  with 
his  ringing : 

"Vatty  elegance." 

"To  the  United  States  of  America,"  continued  the 
mustering  officer. 

The  regiment  responded,  and  so  it  went  on  with  the 
rest  of  the  oath,  viz: 

— '"Against  all  her  enemies  whatsoever:  That  I  will 
obey  the  orders  of  the  President  of  the  United  States 
and  of  the  officers  appointed  over  me,  according  to  the 
rules  and  articles  of  war.     So  help  me  God." 

And  John  Ick  came  in  at  the  tail  end  about  three 
words  behind  as  usual.  But  as  if  that  wasn't  enough 
he  added  something  of  his  own  in  the  shape  of  a  loud 
"Amen."  He  naturally  imagined  that  anything  so 
near  like  a  prayer  was  not  quite  complete  without  an 
"amen"  at  the  end  of  it. 

The  oath,  although  as  ironclad  as  the  whole  power 
and  force  of  the  United  States  government  can  make  it, 
isn't  in  itself  very  long,  but  the  slow  process  of  repeti- 
tion had  necessitated  our  holding  up  our  hands  for  what 


58  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

seemed  an  age,  and  our  arms  ached.  It  was  with 
intense  satisfaction  and  relief  therefore  that  we  received 
the  orders : 

' '  Hands  down !     Hats  on !" 

The  pompous  mustering  officer,  with  a  show  of  dig- 
nity that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  czar  or  a  kaiser, 
then  formally  and  awfully  announced,  that  he,  he— 
with  a  big  H,  Louis  D.  Watkins,  by  the  authority  with 
which  he  was  vested  (and  otherwise  clothed),  then  and 
there  and  here  and  now  did  declare  that  the  officers  and 
men  of  the  Thirteenth  Regiment  of  New  Jersey  Volun- 
teers were  duly  mustered  into  the  service  of  the  United 
States,  to  serve  for  the  period  of  three  years  unless 
sooner  discharged. 

The  nail  was  clinched. 

The  colonel  then  stepped  forward  and  ordered  the 
officers  to  approach,  which  they  did,  and  when  standing 
in  front  of  him  in  a  tolerably  straight  line,  he  addressed 
them  in  a  few  words  that  the  rest  of  us  could  not  hear. 
As  the  officers  came  back  to  lead  their  companies  to 
their  streets,  something  on  their  faces  told  us  all  that 
there  was  something  unusually  important  on  hand. 

There  was.  Before  the  companies  were  dismissed 
the  captain  informed  the  men  that  the  situation  of 
affairs  at  Washington  was  so  precarious  that  the  presi- 
dent had  ordered  the  Thirteenth  Regiment  to  come  on 
at  once.  Similar  orders  had  been  sent  to  every  regi- 
ment in  the  country  in  process  of  formation. 

"Captain,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "we  were  to  have  a 
furlough  before  we  started ;  we  wanted  to  take  our  citi- 
zens' suits  back  home  and  bid  our  families  good-by,  and 
we  want  to  get  a  few  articles  to  take  along  with  us. 
Wasn't  this  understood?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Captain  Irish;  "but  in  times  of  war 
any  programme  may  be  changed  and  all  that  we  have 
to  do  is  to  obey  orders. ' ' 

"Is  that  fair?"  asked  John  Snyder. 

"Don't  talk  in  the  ranks,"  said  the  captain. 

"No,  you,"  said  John  Ick  knowingly,  "dond  you  talk 
by  the  ranks,  or  you'll  go  by  the  garthous;  ven  you 
carry  a  stick  of  dot  ^ord  wood  up  and  down  for  an  hour, 
alreaty,  you  don  talk  no  more  by  the  ranks,  by  gum." 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  39 

"Silence!"  shouted  the  captain. 

"Gimntinney,"  said  Ick,  sotto  voce,  "I  pelief  I  vas 
talking  mine  own  selluff,  and  didn't  know  it." 

The  recruits  broke  ranks  with  much  kicking.  They 
had  fully  expected  a  furlough  before  going  to  the  front. 
There  were  ominous  whispers  and  knowing  winks  that 
night.     Something  was  up. 

In  the  morning  there  were  not  a  dozen  men  in  camp. 
Even  the  guards  had  disappeared,  leaving  their  guns 
sticking  bayonet  down,  in  the  ground. 

Practically  the  entire  regiment  had  deserted! 

What  an  inglorious  end  to  our  career  as  soldiers! 
And  not  mustered  in  half  a  day  yet. 

How  it  all  happened  the  next  chapter  will  relate. 


40  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   EVE   OF   DEPARTURE. 

As  stated  in  the  preceding  chapter,  the  entire  Thir- 
teenth Regiment  of  New  Jersey  Volunteers  had  deserted, 
almost  in  a  body,  at  the  very  first  intimation  of  active 
service.     Not  that  they  were  like  that  famous  character : 

"First  in  peace,  last  in  war." 

Nor  even  like  that  historical  militia  organization 
whose  first  by-law  read : 

"Resolved,  that  in  case  of  war,  riot  or  other  unpleas- 
ant disturbance,  this  company  immediately  disbands." 

No,  it  wasn't  that.  It  wasn't  cowardice.  The  boys 
simply  "wanted  to  go  home."  (They  wanted  to  go 
home  many  another  time  before  their  three  years  were 
up,  but  didn't  have  the  opportunity.)  And  we  believe 
it  is  an  historical  fact  that  this  was  the  only  instance 
during  the  war  where  eight  or  nine  hundred  men  de- 
serted and  were  not  only  not  punished,  but  were  not 
even  reprimanded. 

It  could  hardly  be  called  desertion.  The  boys  simply 
wanted  to  go  home,  and  they  went.  They  could  hardly 
be  blamed.  All  had  enlisted  and  hurried  off  to  camp 
with  quite  a  distinct  understanding  that  they  should 
have  a  furlough  long  enough  to  fix  up  things  at  home, 
and  this  idea  of  being  so  suddenly  and  unceremoniously 
projected  to  the  very  scene  of  conflict  completely  upset 
them. 

The  regiment  deserted,  so  to  speak,  in  squads.  We 
had  previously  arranged  our  respective  coteries; 
"Davy"  Harris,  "Pop"  Snyder  and  I  were  one  of  the 
groups  arranged  in  trios,  and  along  toward  midnight 
we  marched  out  of  camp.  One  of  Company  C's  men 
was  on  guard  at  the  post  we  had  to  pass.     It  did  not 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  41 

take  him  long  to  stick  his  bayonet  in  the  ground  and 
join  us. 

We  took  the  towpath  and  walked  up  to  Paterson 
along  the  canal  bank,  arriving  there  at  4  or  5  o'clock  in 
the  evening.  It  took  about  twenty-four  hours  to 
arrange  our  affairs  and  say  good- by  to  our  friends  for 
the  last  time.  It  didn't  take  me  long  to  settle  up  my 
affairs.  I  deposited  with  a  relative  the  new  suit  of 
clothes  I  had  just  bought,  and  wrote  a  letter  to  my 
father,  who  lived  in  another  State,  that  I  had  enlisted. 

Let  me  tell  you  about  that  suit  of  clothes.  It  was  in 
the  latest  fashion.  The  cost  was  of  a  Prince  Albert 
pattern,  but  it  came  down  to  about  halfway  between 
the  knees  and  heels.  It  was  black  and  white,  in 
squares,  each  one  of  the  squares  being  as  big  as  the 
square  of  a  checkerboard.  The  length  of  the  coat  was 
something  like  the  dude  fashion  of  the  present  time. 
But  during  the  four  years  I  was  away  fashions  had 
changed  to  plain,  dark  colors,  and  the  coat  tail  had  been 
abbreviated.  Had  I  appeared  on  the  streets  in  that  suit 
after  the  war,  I  would  have  been  mobbed. 

The  changes  in  fashions  are  so  gradual  that  they  are 
hardly  noticed.  But  bury  .yourself,  mentally,  for  four 
years,  and  the  change  will  be  startling.  We  think 
nothing  of  the  absurd  wings  the  ladies  wear  now,  but 
had  that  ridiculous  fashion  been  projected  upon  us  in 
all  its  ugliness  without  an  evolutionary  endurance — 
like  cutting  off  a  dog's  tail  by  inches — we  should  have 
been  startled,  to  say  the  least.  So  that  stylish  suit, 
which  had  cost  me  twenty-one  weeks'  wages,  was 
utterly  useless  after  the  war  was  over. 

But  this  is  a  digression.  I  didn't  have  to  save  my 
money  for  clothes  now.  Uncle  Sam  furnished  them. 
As  the  late  Tune  Van  Iderstine  used  to  say,  there  was 
"Plenty  for  to  eat  (usually)  plenty  for  to  drink  (that  is, 
soft  drinks)  and  nothing  for  to  pay."  Besides  all  this 
we  were  paid  the  munificent  wages  of  thirteen  dollars  a 
month — which  usually  went  to  sutler  or  poker,  of 
which  more  anon. 

We  straggled  back  to  camp,  and  in  two  days  every 
man  was  back  again.  We  expected  to  be  at  least 
scolded,  if  not  actually  punished;  but  not  a  word  was 
said  to  us  about  our  "desertion." 


42  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

There  was  a  more  serious  look  on  the  men's  faces  this 
time  than  there  was  the  first  time  they  left  home.  The 
farewell  had  been  more  sorrowful,  for  it  was  known  to 
be  the  last  time  they  would  meet  their  loved  ones  for 
many  months— perhaps  years — perhaps  forever.  Some- 
how it  had  at  first  been  a  sort  of  picnic— a  few  days'  , 
excursion.  Now  we  began  to  realize  that  it  really 
"meant  business." 

But  a  soldier's  downheartedness  doesn't  last  long. 
We  were  kept  busy  with  the  final  arrangements.  We 
"men"  expected  to  be  ordered  to  start  every  moment. 
We  were  kept  in  ignorance,  in  accordance  with  "army 
discipline."  Only  the  officers  knew  we  were  not  to 
start  before  Sunda}'. 

On  Friday  we  went  through  that  pleasant  and  delusive 
experience  that  all  regiments  went  through.  We  were 
presented  with  a  flag  by  the  ladies.  Flag  presentations 
were  too  common  in  those  days  to  indulge  in  silk.  It 
was  an  ordinary  everyday  bunting  flag.  A  clergyman 
made  the  speech  for  the  ladies  and  the  colonel  responded 
for  the  regiment. 

I  think  I  felt  then  my  first  thrill  of  patriotism.  The 
stars  and  stripes  never  before  looked  as  they  did  then. 
As  the  breeze  rippled  through  the  folds  it  seemed  as  if  a 
patriotic  luster  emanated  from  the  ensign,  and  a  vague 
idea  that  I  would  some  clay  see  that  flag  dimly  outlined 
through  the  smoke  and  fire  of  battle  made  the  blood 
jump  through  my  veins. 

And  the  ladies,  God  bless  them!  They  looked  so 
pretty  and  sweet,  so  loyal  and  yet  so  tender,  that  it 
aroused  one's  manhood  to  a  sense  of  duty  in  defending 
them.  I  never  was  a  hero.  I  was  naturally  a  coward. 
But  I  felt  brave  just  then  and  mentally  resolved  that  I 
would  never  do  aught  to  be  ashamed  of. 

A  similar  feeling  must  have  pervaded  the  entire  regi- 
ment, for  it  gave  vent  to  loud  and  enthusiastic  cheers  at 
the  conclusion  of  the  presentation. 

"I  never  saw  the  flag  look  so  beautiful  as  it  did  to- 
day," said  John  Stansfield,  as  he  unbuckled  his  belt. 

"Dott  all  ri-et,  you,"  said  John  Ick.  "But  it  dond 
look  so  beautiful  one  of  dese  dajTs,  I  dond  tink.  I  vash 
thinking  dot  plue  is  like  how  plue  we  vill  all  pe  pefore 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  43 

ve  gits  home  alretty,  and  de  ret  stripes — dot  vash  plood. 
We  vas  all  going  to  ein  schlaughter  haus." 

Despite  this  sanguinary  prediction,  Ick's  remarks 
created  a  laugh,  and  from  that  time  on,  forever  after- 
ward, he  was  called  ' '  Slaughter  House  Ike. ' ' 

On  Friday  it  began  to  look  like  business;  about  one 
hundred  men  were  yet  missing  and  patrols  were  sent 
out  to  capture  them,  wherever  found,  and  bring  them 
in.  The  announcement  in  the  Newark  Advertiser  that 
the  Thirteenth  was  about  to  start  brought  crowds  of 
visitors  to  camp,  a  large  proportion  of  them  being 
ladies. 

On  Saturday  evening,  August  30,  1862,  the  boys  re- 
ceived word  that  they  would  start  the  next  (Sunday) 
morning  for  the  front ! 

Immediately  the  camp  became  a  scene  of  great  ex- 
citement and  hilariousness. 


44  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

OFF  FOR  THE  FRONT. 

When  "reveille"  sounded  in  Camp  Frelinghuysen  on 
Sunday  morning,  August  31,  1862,  no  one  was  awak- 
ened. Everybody  was  already  up  and  filled  with  ex- 
citement over  the  approaching  departure  for  "the 
front."  A  busy  scene  was  enacted.  Everybody  was 
packing  up.  The  men  were  wondering  how  to  get  into 
their  knapsacks  besides  the  clothing  Uncle  Sam  pro- 
vided them,  such  things  as  canned  preserves,  towels, 
looking-glasses,  shaving  outfits  and  a  hundred  and  one 
other  things  from  loving  ones  at  home — even  to  em- 
broidered slippers! 

It  was  no  go.  The  knapsack  would  scarcely  hold  the 
regular  outfit,  let  alone  other  things.  The  parsimony 
of  the  government  in  providing  such  limited  "trunks" 
was  vigorously  criticized,  little  knowing  that  before 
long  we  should  be  more  than  convinced  that  the  knap- 
sacks were  altogether  too  large  and  too  heavy. 

But  the  problem  was  solved  by  packing  the  superflu- 
ous luxuries  into  barrels  and  boxes.  We  had  a  vague 
idea  that  they  would  come  along  with  the  baggage. 
Innocent  souls  that  we  were.  Somebody  must  have  had 
a  feast.      We  never  saw  those  things  again. 

We  filled  our  haversacks  with  "grub"  from  the 
"cook  house"  and  our  canteens  with  water  from  the 
canal,  and  when  everything  was  in  readiness  we  tried 
on  our  "things." 

Phew !  Here  was  another  thing  we  hadn't  counted 
upon.  That  we  were  to  be  "pack  mules"  had  never 
entered  our  heads.     Contemplate  the  array : 

First,  our  thick  clothes  (with  the  scratchy  shirt  and 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  45 

stockings);  then  a  broad  leather  belt  extending  from 
the  right  shoulder  to  the  left  hip ;  then  a  body  belt,  upon 
which  was  a  leather  percussion  cap  box  on  the  front 
and  a  heavy  cartridge  box  on  the  right  hip — a  box  con- 
taining forty  rounds  of  ball  cartridges  in  a  tin  case — 
the  whole  weighing  several  pounds.  Then  there  was 
the  bulgy  haversack,  on  the  right  hip,  hanging  by  a 
strap  from  the  left  shoulder,  while  on  the  reverse  side  was 
the  canteen,  suspended  from  a  strap  which  ran  over  the 
right  shoulder.  Then  came  the  knapsack,  like  the 
hump  on  Pilgrim's  back,  hanging  from  straps  over  both 
shoulders  and  steadied  by  another  strap  that  extended 
over  the  breast.  On  the  equipments  were  brass  eagles 
and  brass  plates  with  "U.  S,"  upon  them.  The  knap- 
sack was  packed  as  full  as  it  could  be,  and  in  straps  on 
the  top  were  the  rubber  and  woolen  blankets  tightly 
rolled,  while  the  overcoat  was  strapped  to  the  back. 

This  was  "heavy  marching  order."  Add  the  rifle, 
weighing  about  nine  pounds,  and  you  have  the  complete 
soldier.  All  you  can  see  is  his  face  and  legs,  and  a  lot 
of  straps  and  bundles  and  bags  with  a  gleaming  bayonet 
sticking  up  alongside  the  right  shoulder.  Thus  arrayed 
and  equipped,  the  load  that  a  soldier  had  to  carry  was 
about  sixty  pounds.  Imagine  yourself  walking  thirty 
miles  a  day  and  carrying  sixty  pounds  of  baggage. 

A  momentary  trial  of  this  load  was  enough.  Every 
man  threw  off  his  knapsack  completely  discouraged. 

We  were  confronted  with  a  condition  utterly  unfore- 
seen. Had  there  been  an  opportunity  to  test  this  lay- 
out in  Captain  Irish's  recruiting  office,  the  probability 
is  that  not  a  single  man  would  have  enlisted! 

Poor  John  Ick  expressed  the  sentiment  of  Company  K 
when  he  threw  his  knapsack  down  on  the  ground  and 
exclaimed : 

"Mine  gott,  poys.  Dot  vash  de  camel  vot  proke  de 
straw's  pack.  I  vash  going  heim.  I  don'd  vant  to  be 
a  soldier  sometimes  any  more,  alretty. ' ' 

But  it  was  too  late  to  go  home  now.  We  were  going 
away  from  home,  and  the  evidences  of  our  departure 
were  too  painfully  apparent  all  around  us. 

Solemn-faced  men  were  embracing  and  kissing  crying 
women  and  children  all  over  the  camp,  and  even  some 


46  THE  YOUNQ    VOLUNTEER. 

of  the  men  were  crying,  not  so  much,  perhaps,  on  their 
own  account,  as  from  sympathy  with  the  really  be- 
reaved wives,  mothers  and  daughters.  No  man  likes  to 
see  a  woman  cry,  but  under  ordinary  conditions  it 
affects  different  men  in  different  ways.  A  woman's 
tears,  to  some  men,  is  a  signal  for  immediate  capitula- 
tion. To  others  it  has  an  irresistibly  irritating  effect. 
Bat  when  a  woman  cries  from  pure  grief — and  not  from 
petulance,  anger  or  hysteria — then  it  strikes  a  sympa- 
thetic chord  in  the  male  breast,  and  he  whose  eyes  are 
not  moist  under  such  circumstances  is  a  brute.  In  the 
economy  of  nature  it  is  only  a  brute  that  cannot  laugh 
or  cry. 

So  it  was  not  unmanly  to  see  great,  strong  men  weep, 
because  their  wives,  their  mothers,  their  sweethearts 
wept.  No  one  knew  when  they  should  meet  again. 
Perhaps  never.     To  some,  it  was  never. 

But  there  is  no  time  for  long-drawn-out  sentiment  in 
war.  The  final  farewells  were  terminated  by  the  order 
to— 

"Fall  in!" 

In  a  short  time  the  regiment  was  formed  and  the 
order  was  given  to  march.  A  wild  huzza  arose  from 
several  thousand  throats  as  the  Thirteenth  New  Jersey 
filed  out  of  the  entrance  to  Camp  Frelinghirysen,  which 
the  soldiers  were  to  see  for  the  last  time.  The  regiment 
was  marched  down  through  Orange  Street  to  Broad, 
followed  by  an  immense  crowd  of  people.  It  was  a 
Sunday,  but  it  was  totally  unlike  an  ordinary  Sunday 
in  Newark,  for  the  whole  city  was  out  as  if  on  a  holi- 
day. 

A  short  halt  was  made  at  Washington  Park,  for  a 
little  rest.  And  "green"  troops  that  we  were,  we 
greatly  needed  it.  The  day  was  atrociously  hot.  The 
sun  poured  down  its  pitiless  rays  until  the  backs  of  our 
necks  were  blistered.  The  straps  from  our  knapsacks 
and  accouterments  had  begun  to  cut  into  the  uncal- 
loused  flesh  of  our  shoulders,  and  the  awful  load  we 
carried  fatigued  us  greatly.  The  cobble  stones  with 
which  Broad  Street  was  then  paved  seemed  unnaturally 
high,  round  and  uneven. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  47 

We  were  marched  to  the  Chestnut  Street  depot,  where 
the  train  was  supposed  to  be  ready.  It  wasn't.  No 
one  ever  knew  of  an  army  train  being  on  time.  It  was 
a  special,  made  up  of  the  cheapest,  dirtiest,  oldest  cars 
of  the  road — "The  New  Jersey  Railroad  and  Transpor- 
tation Company" — a  part  of  the  "Camden  and  Amboy" 
system.  The  "Pennsylvania"  was  as  yet  unheard  of — 
at  least  in  New  Jersey. 

There  were  more  farewells.  Venders  of  knickknacks, 
and  particularly  of  cool  drinks,  did  a  thriving  business. 
A  milkman  came  along,  and  soon  his  cans  were  empty. 
As  my  father  handed  me  an  overflowing  glass  of  milk, 
I  loosed  upon  his  face  for  the  last  time.  Before  the 
war  was  ended  he  had  given  his  life  to  his  country. 

It  was  a  solemn  crowd.  The  first  boisterousness  had 
disappeared.  The  sorrowful,  tearful  farewells  had  a 
depressing  effect.  The  news  from  the  front  was  not 
cheerful.  Even  at  that  moment  a  great  battle  was  in 
progress,  and  not  very  many  miles  from  Washington. 

And  yet  there  were  laughable  scenes.  I  will  tell  you 
one.  It  relates  to  James  O.  Smith,  afterward  connected 
with  the  New  York  Commercial  Advertiser.  Smith 
was  a  Newark  boy,  a  jolly  fellow,  as  he  is  to  this  day. 
He  is  one  of  those  men  who  never  grow  old.  Well, 
Smith's  mother  and  his  best  girl  and  her  mother  were 
looking  around  for  Jim  to  bid  him  a  last  good-by,  and 
Jim  was  watching  for  their  expected  appearance.  Just 
then  a  beautiful  little  German  girl  came  up,  and  in- 
tently gazing  upon  Smith  for  a  moment,  stepped  up 
and  asked : 

"Vas  you  going  to  go  avay?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Jim,  "I  am  going  to  the  front." 

"Yell,"  answered  the  little  German  girl,  "I  vas  so 
sorry." 

And  thereupon  she  put  her  hands  on  Smith's  shoul- 
ders, and  leaning  her  face  down  upon  them,  began  to 
cry  as  ifher  heart  would  break. 

Now  James  O.  Smith  said  then,  and  he  says  yet,  that 
he  would  pledge  his  word  of  honor  as  a  man,  as  a  gen- 
tleman and  as  a  soldier,  that  never  in  the  whole  course 
of  his  life  had  he  ever  laid  eyes  on  that  pretty  little 
German    girl    before,     But  imagine  his  predicament 


48  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

when,  just  at  that  particular  moment,  up  stepped  his 
own,  his  genuine  best  girl,  with  her  mother! 

And  before  Jim  could  explain  the  truth  the  order 
was  received  to  board  the  the  train. 

With  a  yell,  a  hurrah  and  a  general  racket  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Thirteenth  climbed  upon  the  cars.  E very- 
window  was  closely  shut,  and  the  air  was  stifling.  As 
usual,  the  windows  were  stuck  fast  and  could  not  be 
budged.  Then,  as  if  seized  with  the  inspiration  that  a 
soldier's  duty  was  to  destroy,  smash  went  every  window 
in  every  one  of  the  fourteen  or  fifteen  cars  composing 
the  "special"  train.  It  was  done  with  the  butt  ends  of 
the  rifles.  There  was  plenty  of  air  after  that.  The 
officers  tried  to  expostulate,  but  it  was  too  late. 

It  took  a  long  time  to  get  on  the  "baggage"  and  other 
things  necessary  and  in  the  meanwhile  the  boys  were 
chatting  through  the  broken  glass  windows  with  their 
friends  outside.  Jim  Smith  was  apparently  having 
much  difficulty  in  convincing  his  real  girl  that  his  en- 
counter with  that  pretty  little  German  girl  was  only  an 
accidental  meeting.  Whether  he  succeeded  in  putting 
himself  right  no  one  ever  knew. 

A  long  blast  of  the  whistle.  A  last,  superfluous  cry 
of  "all  aboard.'*  A  slight  movement  of  the  train.  We 
were  off. 

"Hurrah  for  the  Thirteenth  Regiment!"  said  some 
one  in  the  crowd.  A  wild  hurrah  from  six  thousand 
throats  arose  in  the  torrid  atmosphere  of  that  hot  Sun- 
day noon  of  August  31,  1862. 

"Hurrah  for  the  ladies  of  Newark!"  shouted  a  sol- 
dier.    And  the  cars  quivered  with  the  shout. 

The  people  shouted  again  in  chorus,  and  the  air  was 
filled  with  Godsends  and  "good-by,  Johns"  and  "good- 
b}r,  Bills,"  while  outside  the  cars  pandemonium  reigned 
supreme. 

And  thus  it  was,  with  a  whoop  and  a  shout,  that  the 
Thirteenth  Regiment  of  New  Jersey  Volunteers  started 
off  for  that  mysterious,  that  awful,  that  unknown  desti- 
nation comprehensively  termed  "The  Front." 

Alas !  If  some  of  them  had  known  what  they  had  to 
go  through  ere  they  again  saw  the  city  of  Newark,  they 
would  have  felt  disposed  to  have  thrown  themselves 
under  the  car  wheels  and  been  crushed  to  jelly. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  49 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WASHINGTON    AND  LINCOLN. 

Those  who  have  been  on  a  target  excursion  know 
what  sort  of  a  scene  is  enacted  on  the  cars  going  to  and 
returning  from  a  day's  pleasure.  I  can  liken  that 
journey  of  the  Thirteenth  Regiment  from  Newark  to 
Philadelphia,  to  nothing  but  a  gigantic  excursion.  Per- 
haps there  was  the  more  indulgence  in  boisterousness  as 
a  sort  of  offset  to  the  gloomy  features  of  the  farewell. 
All  the  songs  that  the  bojTs  knew,  and  some  that  they 
didn't  know,  were  sung,  and  when  the  supply  was  ex- 
hausted they  were  sung  over  again.  There  were  anec- 
dotes and  stories  told,  practical  jokes  perpetrated,  and 
whenever  any  one  began  to  look  sober  and  solemn  he 
was  selected  as  a  victim. 

It  seemed  as  if  we  had  cut  loose  from  everything,  as 
it  were — from  the  world,  the  conventional  routine  of 
life,  from  restraining  influences,  from  civilization. 
And  so  it  was  to  a  greater  extent  than  we  knew  then, 
for  the  fact  must  be  told  that  away  from  the  influence 
of  society,  of  woman,  man  becomes  a  brute.  He  loses 
all  the  little  niceties  and  amenities  of  humanity  and 
quickly  deteriorates  into  a  savage.  Another  proof  of 
Darwinism.  Who  knows,  were  we  all  turned  out  into 
the  woods,  how  long  it  would  be  before  tails  began  to 
sprout ! 

No  such  philosophical  turn,  however,  entered  the  minds 
of  the  boisterous  crowd  that  kept  up  the  racket  all  the 
way  to  the  southern  boundaries  of  the  State.  The  train 
went  through  Trenton  and  Bordentown,  and  entered 
Philadelphia  via  Camden.  It  was  about  dusk  when  we 
crossed  the  Delaware  in  ferry  boats  that  sailed  between 
the  two  halves  of  Smith's  Island,  and  were  at  last  in 
the  city  of  Brotherly  Love. 


60  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

' '  Philadelphia. "     "  Brotherly  Love. ' ' 

How  sweet  are  the  memories  that  hover  around  these 
names  to  every  old  soldier.  No  city  loved  the  soldier 
more,  or  did  more  for  the  soldier,  than  Philadelphia. 
Every  building  large  enough  was  already  an  hospital. 
Every  fire  engine  had  its  ambulance,  in  the  gorgeous 
decoration  of  which  vehicles  the  different  companies 
vied  with  each  other  until  their  ingenuity  for  something 
more  handsome  was  exhausted. 

One  of  the  institutions  of  Philadelphia  was  "The 
Soldiers'  Rest."  It  was  a  large  structure,  as  big  as  the 
train  shed  at  a  railroad  terminus.  When  a  new  regi- 
ment passed  through  the  city  on  the  way  to  the  front, 
it  was  provided  with  a  meal  little  short  of  a  banquet. 
The  men  were  seated  at  tables  provided  with  table 
cloths  and  crockery — real  crockery,  not  tinware.  The 
soldiers  were  waited  upon  by  young  ladies,  pretty  ones 
too. 

"Oh,  my  jimminey,  put  I  vas  glad  I  come  to  de 
war!"  enthusiastically  exclaimed  John  Ick. 

John  expressed  the  sentiment  of  all  of  us.  We  began 
to  think  that,  if  the  further  south  we  went  the  better  we 
fared,  by  the  time  we  reached  the  front  we  would  have 
a  regular  picnic.  Alas,  we  didn't  stop  to  remember 
that  the  last  thing  done  to  a  Thanksgiving  turkey  is  to 
gorge  him  with  chestnuts. 

But,  seriously,  the  old  soldier  will  never  forget  Phila- 
delphia hospitality.  But  it  was  the  jumping  off  place. 
Between  the  City  of  Brotherly  Love  and  Baltimore 
there  was  a  gap,  a  chasm.  For  right  there  was  located 
somewhere  the  dividing  line,  on  one  side  of  which  a  sol- 
dier was  considered  a  patriot,  a  gentleman,  and  on  the 
other  side  regarded  merely  as  a  soulless  machine. 

We  bade  adieu  to  Philadelphia  late  that  night  with  a 
salvo  of  cheers. 

Alas  for  human  consistency.  The  last  man  to  get 
on  the  cars  was  Jim  Smith.  In  fact  he  came  near  being 
left  in  consequence  of  his  lingering  flirtation  with  a 
pretty  Philadelphia  girl.  And  so  soon  after  his  en- 
counter with  his  own  true  love — and  that  beautiful 
little  German  girl. 

The  ride  to  Baltimore  was  through  the  night,     At; 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  51 

Havre  de  Grace  the  cars  in  those  days  crossed  on  a  big 
ferryboat.  There  were  no  bridges  yet.  The  switches 
were  choked  with  troop-laden  trains,  and  we  had  to 
wait  three  hours  for  our  turn  on  the  ferry-boat.  And, 
by  the  way,  it  was  the  first  time  for  nearly  all  of  us  to 
see  a  locomotive  and  train  cross  a  wide  river  on  a  boat. 
It  was  morning  when  we  reached  Baltimore.  Here  we 
had  breakfast. 

Breakfast?    Ugh ! 

We  had  passed  the  "dividing  line."  We  were  in  a 
State  only  semiloyal.  Indeed  bloody  riots  had  occurred 
in  the  streets  of  Baltimore,  caused  by  rebel  sympathizers 
attacking  passing  regiments.  As  we  disembarked  we 
were  quietly  ordered  to  load  our  rifles — with  bullets ! 
It  began  to  look  like  business. 

But  that  breakfast !  It  was  in  a  shed.  The  coffee 
was  black  and  nasty — about  as  much  flavor  to  it  as  mud. 
We  had  soft  bread  that  was  slack-baked — half -dough. 
And  the  meat!  We  were  formally  introduced  to  "salt 
horse!" 

"Vot  sort  of  meat  you  calls  that?"  asked  the  irre- 
pressible John  lck,  who  wanted  to  know  everything. 
The  waiter  was  a  soldier  who  had  seen  some  service. 

"Salt  junk,"  replied  he. 

"Salt  yunk.  Vot  vas  dot,  alretty?"  asked  John. 
"Dot  looks  like  old  dried -up  liverworst." 

John  attempted  to  take  a  mouthful.  There  were  no 
knives  or  forks,  and  he  held  it  in  his  hand.  It  was 
tougher  than  sole  leather.  It  was  what  Rider  Haggard 
would  call  "biltong." 

"Ugh!"  exclaimed  John,  spitting  out  the  salty  stuff 
and  pushing  the  unsavory  mess  away  from  him.  ' '  Take 
it  avay.     Bring  me  some  peefsteaks." 

"Eat  that  or  nothing,"  said  the  soldier. 

"I  no  eat  dot,"  replied  lck  angrily.  "You  vas  ein 
shysterpoop.  You  vas  a  old  seseshel,  and  py  gimmeny 
I  can  lick  you  quicker'n " 

John  had  [got  up  to  fight.  Sergeant  Wells  came  to 
see  what  the  disturbance  was  about. 

"Dot  old  schweinigel,  Mister  Wells,  he  told  me  to 
eat  dot  or  nothing.  I  doand  like  dot,  alretty.  Look  by 
dot  meat,  dot — vot  he  callem — salt  yunk.     Und  ven  I 


52  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

ask  him  to  pring  me  some  peefsteaks,  he  tole  me  to  eat 
dot  or  nothing,  ain't  it." 

"You  must  keep  quiet,  John,"  said  Wells.  "That's 
the  regulation  army  food." 

"Idon'd  vant  no  reggellashen  grub,  I  vanfrsome  peef- 
steaks, dot's  vat  I  vant." 

"There's  no  beefsteak  here,  John.  You  keep  quiet, 
or  you'll  get  in  trouble." 

"I'll  go  straight  heim,  dot's  vot  I  vill." 

"Keep  still." 

"Vait  vounce  till  I  get  you  outside,  you  old  pumper- 
nickel," shouted  the  irate  Ick,  shaking  his  fist  across 
the  table.  Then  he  quieted  down,  rather  to  everybody's 
surprise. 

John  Ick  only  expressed  the  feelings  of  the  others. 
Oh,  for  a  good,  tender,  juicy  beefsteak.  Salt  horse, 
muddy  coffee  and  black  bread !  What  a  menu !  The 
coffee  was  served  in  tin  cups.  The  bread  and  meat 
were  laid  on  the  bare  board  that  served  as  a  table  and 
which  had  evidently  not  been  washed  since  it  was  made. 

The  "Soldiers'  Retreat,"  as  this  inhospitable  place 
was  called,  was  near  the  depot.  We  were  compelled  to 
sit  or  stand  around  there  all  day.  Armed  guards  pre- 
vented our  going  out  "to  see  the  town."  We  had  to 
take  our  dinner  and  supper — both  of  which  were  similar 
to  the  breakfast — in  that  miserable  place.  About  dark 
we  were  told  that  the  train  was  ready. 

And  what  a  train !  Hitherto  we  had  traveled  in  pas- 
senger cars,  poor  though  the}'  were.  Now  we  were 
piled  into  old  freight  cars.  We  were  getting  to  a  part 
of  the  country  where  war  was  war  and  a  soldier  noth- 
ing more  than  an  animated  piece  of  the  machinery  of 
war.  It  was  simply  "anyway  to  get  there,"  now. 
Rough  board  seats  were  built  across  the  cars  and  we 
were  huddled  in  like  so  many  sheep.  Auger  holes 
bored  through  the  sides  afforded  what  little  ventilation 
there  was.     As  it  was,  we  were  nearly  stifled. 

With  a  series  of  stops  and  jerks  as  the  bumpers  of 
the  old-fashioned  coupled  freight  cars  jammed  together, 
we  passed  a  miserable,  restless,  sleepless  six  hours,  dur- 
ing which  the  rebels,  the  army,  the  government,  the 
railroad,  the  officers  and  everything  else  were  unspar- 


TEE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  S3 

ingly  anathematized,  and  we  kicked  ourselves  that  we 
were  ever  such  fools  as  to  enlist.  Only  for  the  irresist- 
ibly comical  vigor  of  the  curses  of  John  Ick,  which 
somewhat  amused  us,  we  would  have  died. 

Washington ! 

We  arrived  at  last.  Our  first  impressions  of  the 
great  capital  were  anything  but  pleasant.  It  was  in 
the  middle  of  the  night.  We  were  marched  through 
and  over  a  lot  of  switches  and  sidings,  and  finally 
entered  what  seemed  to  be  a  large  freight  house.  Here 
we  spread  our  blankets  and  lay  down.  We  were  so 
tired  out  that  we  couldn't  help  sleeping  soundly. 

I  was  awakened  early,  as  were  my  comrades.  We 
found  that  the  place  was  another  of  those  "Soldiers' 
Retreats."  The  breakfast  was  served  a  la  Baltimore. 
After  breakfast  I  obtained  permission  to  be  absent  from 
camp  for  two  hours  and  with  three  or  four  comrades 
went  to  see  that  Mecca  of  every  true  American,  the 
capitol  building. 

The  capitol  was  scarcely  like  what  it  is  now.  The 
grounds  were  in  a  state  of  chaos.  The  dome  was  but 
partially  completed;  on  its  top  was  a  gigantic  derrick, 
just  as  the  workmen  left  it  when  the  government  had 
other  calls  for  its  money  than  erecting  marble  buildings 
and  glass  domes. 

I  climbed  up  into  the  rotunda,  that  was  compara- 
tively finished — partially  in  the  same  shape  as  now, 
except  that  only  a  portion  of  the  pictures  were  painted 
— those  pictures  that  subsequently  became  so  familiar 
on  the  back  of  the  national  currency. 

With  opened-mouthed  wonder,  and  mind  filled  with 
historical  recollections  thus  so  plainly  brought  face  to 
face,  I  was  gazing  up  toward  the  unfinished  dome, 
when  I  felt  a  hearty  slap  on  my  shoulder. 

"Good-morning,  my  boy!" 

I  turned  to  look.  I  was  almost  paralyzed.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  dead  had  come  to  life.  Did  the  reader  ever  ex- 
perience the  sensation  of  meeting  for  the  first  time  some 
great  man  whose  picture  was  as  familiar  as  a  dining- 
room  clock?  It  seems  as  if  you  had  encountered  an 
apparition. 

Mind  you,  it  was  6  o'clock  in  the  morning.     I  was 


54  THE  TOTING   VOLUNTEER. 

"only  a  private."  But  there  at  that  early  hour,  stand- 
ing in  front  of  me,  was  a  tall,  gaunt  figure  whose  feat- 
ures were  familiar  to  every  man  and  woman,  every  boy 
and  girl,  in  the  country. 

It  was  no  less  a  personage  than  Abraham  Lincoln, 
the  President  of  the  United  States ! 


TEE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  55 


CHAPTER  IX. 
president  and  private. 

President  Lincoln! 

Now  any  one  who  has  been  in  the  army  knows  that  it 
is  a  rather  extraordinary  thing  for  a  mere  private  soldier 
to  come  face  to  face  with  the  President  of  the  United 
States,  the  great  commander  of  the  whole  army  and 
navy.  And  it  was  more  extraordinary  that  such  an 
encounter  should  occur  almost  at  the  moment  the  afore- 
said private  soldier  arrived  in  Washington — and  at  6 
o'clock  in  the  morning  at  that. 

I  had,  of  course,  never  seen  Lincoln  before,  but  his 
face  was  as  familiar  through  popular  portraits  as  Gen- 
eral Grant's  subsequently  was.  Besides  hadn't  I,  in 
the  fall  of  '60,  fed  into  the  press  at  the  Guardian  office 
over  forty  thousand  election  tickets  bearing  the  picture 
of  Abraham  Lincoln? 

There  he  stood,  tall,  gaunt,  pale,  in  a  somber  suit  of 
black.  His  face  wore  an  anxious  look  that  accentuated 
that  familiar  wart  on  his  cheek.  And  he  was  indeed 
anxious.  The  rebels  were,  so  to  speak,  almost  at  the 
very  gates  of  the  national  capital.  There  wasn't  much 
sleep  for  anybody.  The  president  had  hurriedly  tele- 
graphed for  every  available  volunteer.  He  was  on 
hand  to  see  how  many  had  come.  He  was  like  a 
boy  who  cannot  wait  for  daylight  on  Christmas 
morning,  but  surreptitiously  gets  up  in  his  nightshirt 
to  take  a  glance  at  his  stocking  by  the  mantelpiece. 
This  explains  why  President  Lincoln,  with  one  or 
two  other  men — I  don't  know  who  they  were — 
was  at  the  capitol  so  early  that  Monday  morning,  Sep- 
tember 1,  1862. 

"Good -morning,  my  boy,"  said  he  as  I  turned  to  see 
who  had  slapped  me  so  familiarly  on  the  shoulder. 


56  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

And  as  I  turned  and  instantly  recognized  him,  as  just 
explained,  I  was  almost  paralyzed  with  amazement,  I 
might  say,  terror.  Who  wouldn't  be  under  the  cir- 
cumstances? 

uG-g-good- morning,"  I  stammered,  "are — aren't  you 
the  p-p-president?" 

''Yes,  my  hoy,"  said  he,  encouragingly,  seeing  my 
embarrassment,  and  taking  me  kindly  by  the  hand,  as 
a  grave  smile  passed  over  his  pale  face.  "Yes,  I  am 
the  president — the  president  of  a  distressed  country. 
We  want  you  now,  my  lad,  and  a  good  many  like  you. 
You  are  from  New  Jersey?" 

"Y-y-yes,  sir." 

"The  Thirteenth  New  Jersey?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  answered,  the  surprise  that  he  should 
know  the  number  of  my  regiment  somewhat  over- 
shadowing my  embarrassment. 

"Who  is  your  colonel?''  he  asked. 

"Colonel  Carman." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln. 

And  that  he  should  know  or  remember  the  name  of 
our  colonel,  when  there  were  so  many  colonels  and  regi- 
ments gave  me  another  surprise. 

"How  sti'ong  is  your  regiment?" 

"About  nine  hundred,  I  believe,  sir." 

"Are  there  any  more  troops  on  the  way?" 

"Yes,  sir;  lots  of  them;  but  I  don't  know  how  many, 
sir." 

"You  don't  know  where  they  are  from,  I  suppose?" 

"No,  sir,"  I  replied,  "but  I  heard  some  of  them  call- 
ing each  other  'Hoosiers'  and  'Suckers,'  so  that  I  sup- 
pose they  are  from  Indiana  and  Illinois." 

The  president  laughed,  and  a  quizzical  look  passed 
over  his  face  as  he  asked : 

"So  they  call  the  men  from  Illinois  'suckers, '  do 
they?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  replied,  proud  of  my  knowledge  of 
State  nomenclature. 

"Well,  you  know  I'm  from  Illinois?" 

I  thought  I  would  sink  through  the  marble  floor  of 
the  rotunda. 

"Oh — oh — M-m-mister    President,"     I    stammered, 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  57 

while  I  felt  the  hot  blood  rushing  to  the  roots  of  my 
hair,  "I  d-d-didn't  mean " 

"That's  all  right,  my  boy,"  he  said,  with  a  reassur- 
ing smile.     "I  was  only  joking." 

I  had  of  course  heard  a  good  deal  about  "Abe"  Lin- 
coln's jokes;  but  I  never  thought  he  would  work  one 
on  me.  I  didn't  laugh  at  it  a  little  bit — at  least  not 
just  then. 

Mr.  Lincoln  then  asked  my  name,  residence  and  oc- 
cupation, and  seemed  to  take  a  remarkable  interest  in 
an  obscure  stranger — nothing  but  a  common  private. 
He  took  my  hand  for  a  good- by,  when  I  reminded  him 
that  there  were  several  other  Jersey  boys  standing  be- 
hind me,  who  would  no  doubt  feel  honored  to  shake 
hands  with  the  President  of  the  United  States. 

"I  did  not  intend  to  miss  them,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln. 
"Every  soldier  is  my  friend  and  my  brother.  We  are 
all  soldiers  now,  in  a  common  cause.  God  bless  you 
all." 

Then  he  shook  hands  and  said  a  pleasant  word  to 
every  blue-coated  recruit  in  the  rotunda.  A  couple  of 
distinguished-looking  officers  came  in  and  interrupted 
proceedings,  and  after  a  word  or  so  with  them  he  started 
off  in  their  company.  We  followed  him  to  the  top  of 
the  then  unfinished  eastern  stairway,  down  which  he 
went  and  walked  over  toward  the  old  Capitol  Prison. 

The  familiar,  friendly  way  in  which  the  President 
had  greeted  us  had  captivated  us  entirely.  The  mag- 
nificent, though  unfinished  capitol  building  had  no 
attractions  for  us  after  that.  We  had  seen  and  spoken 
to  a  real,  live  president,  and  from  that  moment  every 
one  of  us  felt  like  giving  his  life,  if  necessary,  in  defense 
of  a  country  with  such  a  ruler.  There  is  that  in  every 
citizen  that  enhances  his  loyalty  at  the  sight  of  his  ruler's 
person. 

We  hurried  back  to  the  "Retreat"  to  tell  of  our  ad- 
venture. Every  word  of  that  conversation  was  im- 
pressed on  my  mind  and  it  is  there  to-day  as  fresh  as  it 
was  on  the  day  it  took  place.  Of  course  it  created  a 
sensation  among  my  comrades.  We  told  it  to  Com- 
pany K,  and  then  Captain  Irish  sent  for  us  and  we  had 
to  repeat  it  to  him.     Then  we  received  a  message  from 


58  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

the  colonel,  and  were  required  to  relate  it  all  over  again 
for  his  information. 

"The  boys  who  talked  with  the  president"  were  the 
heroes  of  the  day.  As  for  myself  I  think  I  grew  about 
two  inches  taller.  I  thought  I  ought  to  be  promoted 
at  once,  and  imagined  the  colonel  would  make  me  a 
corporal  at  least.     But  he  didn't. 

I  met  President  Lincoln  personally  several  times  after 
that.  I  would  have  felt  sad  just  then  had  I  known  that 
the  last  service  I  should  be  called  upon  to  render  him 
would  be  to  stand  guard  over  Abraham  Lincoln's  mur- 
dered body.     I  did. 

I  was  soon  brought  down  from  my  sublime  height  of 
imaginary  importance  by  hearing  Sergeant  Heber 
Wells'  order: 

"Fall  in,  boys.  We're  ordered  to  go  over  to  Virginia 
at  once." 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  59 


CHAPTER  X, 

IN   OLD   YARGINNT. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  humbug  and  mild  decep- 
tion in  the  army,  as  ever}rwhere  else,  and  one  example 
is  the  way  in  which  the  innocent  credulity  of  nearly 
every  volunteer  was  played  upon.  Probably  there  never 
was  an  Eastern  regiment  that  did  not  start  out  with  a 
sort  of  understanding,  either  tacit  or  expressed,  that  it 
was  to  be  specially  favored.  It  was  generall}'  to  the  effect 
that  the  colonel  had  "a  pull"  with  the  powers  that  were, 
and  that  that  particular  regiment,  instead  of  long 
marches  and  hard  fighting,  was  to  be  detailed  for  guard 
duty  at  Washington  or  some  similar  snap,  relieving 
some  other  regiment  of  more  experience. 

Such  an  impression  prevailed  in  the  Thirteenth  Regi- 
ment, aad  there  seemed  to  be  some  ground  for  it,  for 
surely  the  government  would  not  send  to  the  front  a 
lot  of  men  who  had  had  scarcely  any  drilling  and  the 
most  of  the  members  of  which  hardly  knew  how  to  load 
aud  fire  a  gun.  But  all  this  dreamy,  pic-nicky  prospect 
was  scattered  to  the  four  winds  by  the  peremptory  order 
to  get  ready  to  march  over  into  Virginia. 

'"Dot  is  a  shame,"  exclaimed  the  irrepressible  John 
Ick.  "I'll  no  go.  Dose  fellers  don't  get  me  by  no 
schlaughter-haus,  py  hooky." 

"Oh,  you're  always  a-croakin' !  ye  cranky  old  Dutch- 
man," retorted  Reddy  Mahar;  "shut  up  wid  ye?" 

"Whose  a  granky  old  Deutschman?" 'answered  Ick 
angrily,  "you  are  a  old  Irish  red  head,  dot's  vat  you 
vash,  und  I  don't  care,  needer." 

"Ye're  afraid,  that's  phwat  ye  are,^  said  Reddy. 

"You  vash  anudder,  alretty." 

"Ye're  a  coward,  ye  spalpeen." 

"Whose  a  gowyard,  Irish?  Don'  you  gall  me  dot 
py  jimminy," 


60  THE  TOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

"That's  phwat  ye  are,"  reiterated  Reddy,  "always 
prating  about  slaughter  house  and  sich.  Ye  must  ha' 
been  dhrunk  when  ye  'listed,  or  ye  wouldn't  been  here." 

"You  vas  von  liar." 

Reddy  dropped  his  knapsack  and  went  for  "Slaughter 
House"  Ick.  The  latter  had  got  his  arm  twisted  up 
in  the  strap  of  his  knapsack  somehow,  and  was  caught 
at  a  disadvantage.  He  was  helpless  and  could  not 
parry  the  blow  that  Reddy  landed  between  his  eyes. 
Ick,  handicapped  as  he  was,  threw  himself  bodily  upon 
Reddy,  and  the  two  went  down  together.  In  falling 
the  two  belligerents  tumbled  against  Sandy  Kidd  and 
the  three  went  down  into  a  heap.  Then  the  others 
gathered  around  to  witness  an  exceedingly  lively 
rough-and-tumble  fight.  Hank  Van  Orden  and  some 
others  jumped  in  to  interfere  and  for  a  moment  it  re- 
sembled a  riot. 

Captain  Irish  rushed  up  to  the  scene,  furious.1  It  was 
the  first  case  of  disorder  that  had  occurred  in  the  regi- 
ment, and  he  regarded  it  as  an  ineffable  disgrace  to 
Company  K.  He  was  too  angry  to  listen  to  details, 
and  ordered  under  arrest  not  only  Ick  and  Mahar,  but 
Van  Orden  and  Kidd  as  well,  in  spite  of  the  latter's 
protests.  The  two  innocent  men  were  subsequently 
released,  but  Ick  and  Mahar  had  to  carry  two  muskets 
for  the  rest  of  the  day  as  a  punishment.  And  any  old 
soldier  will  tell  you  that  it  is  no  fun  to  carry  two  heavy 
rifles,  in  addition  to  all  the  legitimate  baggage  of  a 
private. 

When  the  matter  was  reported  to  Colonel  Carman 
he  laconically  remarked : 

"They'll  get  over  that  nonsense.  They'll  have  all 
the  fighting  they  want  before  they  are  home  again,  I 
guess. ' ' 

"But  you  can  put  down  the  fact,  colonel,"  replied 
Lieutenant  Scott,  "that  Company  K  was  the  first  in  a 
fight." 

The  colonel  smiled,  shifted  his  "chew,"  and  strode 
away.     Soon  after  wTe  were  on  the  march; 

Our  orders  were  to  proceed  to  "Fort  Ward,"  wher- 
ever that  might  be.  None  of  us  knew,  of  course,  except 
that  it  was  over  in  "Old  Varginny."     We  marched 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  61 

through  some  back  streets  of  the  capital  city  until  we 
came  to  the  famous  "Long  Bridge."  And  let  me  say 
that  Washington  was  not  then  the  magnificent  city  that 
it  is  now.  The  streets  were  paved  with  cobble  stones 
or  were  mere  dirt — not  with  the  asphalt  of  to-day. 
What  is  now  the  beautiful  park  back  of  the  White 
House  was  then  nothing  but  a  swamp.  The  Wash- 
ington monument  was  not  half  completed.  Work  had 
been  stopped  on  it  for  a  great  many  years.  Visitors  to 
the  capital  now  can  tell  its  height  then  by  the  dirty  ap- 
pearance of  the  stone  on  the  lower  half.  The  upper  and 
more  recently  completed  part  looks  whiter  and  cleaner. 

We  crossed  the  Long  Bridge  and  during  the  afternoon 
made  our  first  foot  tracks  in  the  dusty  roads  of  Virginia's 
sacred  soil.  The  general  color  of  Virginia  soil  is  brick 
red.  In  summer  it  is  an  impalpable  dust.  In  winter 
it  is  mud — and  such  mud !  The  possibilities  of  its  depth 
are  limitless,  while  its  consistency  ranges  from  paste  to 
dough.  When  we  arrived  the  dust  season  was  at  its 
height. 

We  didn't  go  to  Fort  Ward,  but  to  Fort  Richardson. 
But  it  didn't  matter.  The  difference  was  only  in  name. 
It  was  simply  a  row  of  embankments,  hastily  thrown 
up.  It  was  on  Arlington  Heights,  just  across  the  river 
from  Washington.  These  so-called  fortifications  (still 
there)  were  made  for  the  protection  of  the  capital,  the 
idea  being  then  that  the  enemy  was  close  at  hand  and 
that  it  would  be  the  scene  of  a  battle  in  a  day  or  so. 

It  was  close  enough  to  the  city  for  visitors  and  fakirs. 
The  latter's  name  was  legion.  They  sold  all  sorts  of 
useful  and  useless  things  to  the  soldier,  the  only  one  of 
which  that  was  any  good  being  a  combined  pocket  knife, 
fork  and  spoon.  No  soldier  ever  had  cause  to  regret 
buying  one  of  these  useful  articles.  All  the  other  things 
were  humbugs. 

The  tintype  fiend  was  also  numerously  in  evidence, 
and  there  were  few  who  didn't  have  "their  pictures 
took"  in  warlike  array  to  send  home  to  admiring  and 
awestruck  friends  and  relatives. 

But  where  was  the  baggage?  Where  were  the  tents? 
Not  a  sign  of  them,  and  night  was  approaching.  Jakey 
Engle  cooked  our  beans  and  made  our  coffee  on  time. 


62  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER 

but  there  were  do  signs  of  sleeping  accommodations. 
There  was  a  general  ''kick."  The  Thirteenth  Eegi- 
ment  then  and  there  began  the  kicking  that  they  kept 
up  till  the  end  of  the  war.  There  was  an  old  saying  in 
the  army  that  a  soldier  who  didn't  kick  was  no  good. 
In  that  particular  sense  there  was  no  regiment  in  the 
army  that  filled  the  requirements  of  good  soldiers  to  a 
greater  extent  than  the  Thirteenth  New  Jersey. 

For  the  first  time  in  the  lives  of  the  most  of  us  we 
went  to  bed  outdoors  on  the  bare  ground,  with  nothing 
over  us  except  the  stars.  It  is  a  singular  sensation  to 
wake  up  in  the  night,  chilled  to  the  bone,  and  see  the 
bright  stars  overhead. 

Many  a  man  wished  that  night  that  he  was  between 
the  sheets  of  his  comfortable  bed  at  home.  Patriotism 
was  at  ebb  tide,  and  at  heart  there  were  very  few  who 
were  not  sorry  they  had  enlisted. 

"Wouldn't  you  rather  be_setting  type  for  an  extra  in 
the  Guardian  office?"  asked  Davy  Harris. 

I  honestly  confessed  that  I  would  indeed. 

"Don't  get  downhearted,  boys,"  said  John  Stansfield. 
"  We  have  only  1,087  more  days  to  serve." 

"What's  that?" 

"I  say  we  have  only  1,087  more  days  to  serve.  You 
see  we  enlisted  for  three  years.  That  is  1,095  days. 
We  have  been  mustered  in  eight  days.  That  leaves  1,087 
yet  to  serve." 

"Oh,  but  you  know,"  said  Harris,  "that  we  enlisted 
'for  three  years  unless  sooner  discharged,' and  as  the 
war  won't  last  three  years " 

"Don't  calculate  too  much  on  that,"  interrupted 
Stansfield.  ' '  I  believe  it  is  going  to  take  more  than  three 
years  to  settle  this  thing." 

This  was  a  dampening  remark.  I  don't  believe  a 
single  one  of  the  men  imagined  when  he  enlisted  that 
the  war  would  last  one  year,  let  alone  three.  Such 
language  was  not  calculated  to  make  us  very  cheerful. 

And  yet  John  Stansfield  was  pretty  near  right.  It 
lacked  only  a  few  weeks  of  three  years  when  the  Thir- 
teenth Regiment  was  mustered  out  because  their  "serv- 
ices were  no  longer  required." 

As  to  Stansfield's  calculations:  I  don't  believe  there 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  63 

was  a  soldier  in  the  army  who  did  not,  every  night, 
mentally  count  up  how  many  days  had  elapsed  since  his 
enlistment,  and  "how  many  more  days  he  had  to  serve." 
This  phase  of  the  case  certainly  shows  that  army  life 
was  not  as  enjoyable  as  some  people  think  it  was. 
They  counted  the  days  yet  remaining  before  they  would 
be  discharged,  the  same  as  a  convict  does  the  remaining 
days  of  his  imprisonment. 

As  we  lay  there  on  the  hard  Virginia  soil  that  night, 
with  the  sky  for  a  counterpane  and  the  bright  stars  for 
night  lamps,  not  one  appreciated  the  magnitude  of  the 
struggle.  Not  one  dreamed  that  the  North  would  re- 
quire 1,500,000  soldiers  before  the  rebellion  was  sup- 
pressed; that  there  would  be  300,000  men  killed;  that 
there  would  be  between  400,000  and  500,000  wounded; 
that  the  number  who  died  from  disease  or  exposure  or 
were  included  under  that]  wonderful  and  mysterious 
heading  of  "missing,"  would  aggregate  some  300,000 
more! 

These  are  frightful  statistics,  but  they  are  approxi- 
mately true.  So  sleep  on  in  ignorance  of  the  awful 
times  to  come !     Dream  of  home,  soldier ! 

And  so  we  slept. 


64  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER* 


CHAPTER  XL 

A  RETREATING  ARMY. 

In  the  morning  we  were  awakened  by  the  mighty 
tread  of  a  moving  army.  And  what  an  army!  Thou- 
sands upon  thousands  of  men,  whose  dirty,  filthy  clothes 
made  a  sorry  contrast  with  our  bright  new  uniforms ; 
men  with  dirty,  unkempt  hair,  worn  out  and  pinched. 
None  of  them  carried  knapsacks — nothing  but  a  rolled 
blanket  hanging  over  one  shoulder  and  tied  under  the 
arms  on  the  other  side  with  a  string.  They  resembled 
horse  collars.  We  wondered  why  this  was  done — why 
they  had  discarded  their  knapsacks.  We  learned  that 
later. 

There  were  troops  and  troops  of  cavalry  and  mounted 
officers.  There  was  an  apparently  interminable  string 
of  flying  artillery.  And  as  for  the  army  wagons,  each 
drawn  by  six  braying  mules,  there  was  simply  no  end 
of  them. 

But  there  was  something  else !    Blood ! 

Hundreds  of  two-wheeled  ambulances  came  along; 
glancing  in  we  saw  the  form  of  a  motionless  soldier,  or 
perhaps  two  of  them,  and  each  one  wearing  a  blood 
stained  bandage  somewhere.  There  were  soldiers 
minus  legs,  soldiers  minus  arms,  soldiers  whose  heads 
were  so  swathed  that  only  the  eyes  could  be  seen. 

On  foot  were,  seemingly,  myriads  of  soldiers  less 
severely  wounded,  with  bandages  on  their  heads,  with 
their  arms  in  slings,  and  not  a  white  bandage  could  be 
seen  without  the  stain  of  blood  oozing  through.  John 
Ick's  remark  about  a  "slaughter  house"  was  verified. 

We  encountered  some  Paterson  boys  in  the  passing 
army — boys  who  had  enlisted  in  the  earlier  regiments. 

They  were  already  veterans.  Many  had  "smelled 
powder."     They  had  seen  a  battle.     In  fact  they  had 


THE  YOUWG   VOLUNTEER.  65 

been  in  a  battle,  and  had  been  wounded.  The  privates 
didn't  know  it,  but  the  army  was  even  then  on  the  re- 
treat, and  falling  back  on  Washington.  The  very- 
capital  was  threatened. 

Soldiers  who  participate  in  a  battle  don't  know  where 
they  are  or  what  it  is  named.  Historians  give  names 
to  battlefields.  The  one  that  had  just  taken  place  is 
now  known  as  "The  Second  Bull  Run."  Twice  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  had  been  defeated  on  the  same 
ground  at  Manassas. 

This  battle  was  fought  on  August  29  and  30,  1862. 

It  was  this  battle  that  caused  the  peremptory  tele- 
graphic order  for  us  to  leave  Camp  Frelinghuysen  at 
once. 

And  on  Monday  night,  September  1st,  while  we  were 
on  the  way  the  maneuvering  of  the  armies  precipitated 
a  second  conflict  between  Hill's  and  Ewell's  divisions 
of  Stonewall  Jackson's  troops  on  the  Confederate  side, 
and  the  Union  commands  of  Reno,  Hooker  and  Kearny. 
It  was  what  was  subsequently  called  the  battle  of  Chan- 
tilly.  History  tells  us  that  one  of  Reno's  divisions  was 
forced  back  in  disorder,  whereupon  the  intrepid  Kearny 
sont  Birney's  brigade  to  repair  the  break.  A  gap  still 
remained  on  Birney's  right,  and  Kearny  galloped  for- 
ward to  reconnoiter. 

It  was  here  that  the  gallant  Phil  Kearny  lost  his  life. 
He  had  already  lost  an  arm  in  a  previous  battle,  and 
more  than  once  the  soldiers  saw  him  leading  a  charge 
with  his  sword  between  his  teeth,  and  guiding  his  horse 
with  his  only  hand.  He  was  courageous  to  the  degree  of 
recklessness.  Unknowingly  he  penetrated  the  enemy's 
lines  and  was  killed.  In  grateful  remembrance  of  his 
services  the  State  of  New  Jersey  erected  a  handsome 
bronze  monument,  which  for  a  time  stood  in  the  State 
House  at  Trenton,  but  which  now  stands  in  one  of  the 
parks  on  Broad  Street,  Newark. 

After  the  battle  of  Chantilly  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
fell  back  within  the  fortifications  of  Washington.  It 
was  this  "falling  back"  that  the  Thirteenth  Regiment 
encountered  a  day  or  so  after  they  had  left  their  muster- 
ing camp  in  Newark. 

It  was  expected  then  and  there  that  General  Lee  and 


66  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

his  whole  army  would  be  upon  us  in  a  few  hours,  and 
we  raw  recruits  were  told  that  we  would  likely  have  a 
battle  soon.  Was  I  frightened?  Wasn't  I?  I  can't 
speak  for  the  others,  but  as  for  myself  I  thought  surely 
that  my  days  were  numbered.  When  I  enlisted  I  had 
a  remote  idea  that  I  might  possibly,  some  day  in  the 
far-off  future,  see  a  real  battle;  but  this  suddenness 
was  too  much,  and  I  was  completely  upset.  The  sight 
of  the  vast  retreating  army ;  the  awful  spectacle  of  the 
blood  stained  wounded ;  the  prospects  of  an  immediate 
battle — well,  it  scared  the  whole  lot  of  us. 

"Scared,"  is  the  correct  word.  We  were  thoroughly 
scared.  And  let  me  say  right  here  that  the  man  who 
says  he  was  not  scared  on  the  eve  of  a  battle  is  a  liar. 

"You'll  be  sick  of  it  before  you're  in  it  long,"  said 
one  of  the  veteran  Jerseymen. 

"We're  sick  of  it  already,"  was  the  reply. 

And  we  were.  If  there  had  been  any  back  way  to 
sneak  home,  I  believe  the  whole  lot  of  us  would  have 
sneaked.  Why  did  we  enlist?  Why  were  we  such 
fools?  As  for  myself,  I  looked  back  over  the  previous 
few  days  and  traced  it  to  the  pound  of  cheese  I  had 
carried  around  to  Mr.  Pennington's  house.  I  never 
looked  at  a  piece  of  cheese  without  thinking  of  it.  My 
war  experience  and  cheese  are  indissolubly  connected. 

But  General  Lee  and  his  army  didn't  chase  us  clear  into 
Washington.  Lee  turned  his  face  northward  in  search 
of  new  fields  to  conqiier.  Day  after  day  passed,  and  no 
enemy  appeared,  no  fighting  was  done.  Doubtless  the 
"big  guns"  knew  what  was  going  on,  but  we  privates 
were  in  ignorance.  Privates  never  know  anything. 
They  simply  do  as  they  are  told.  From  the  moment 
they  enlist  they  are  shackled  slaves,  and  some  of  the 
officers  were  worse  slave-drivers  than  ever  cudgeled  a 
plantation  negro. 

The  first  scare  soon  wore  off.  It  is  always  so  with  an 
averted  or  delayed  danger.  For  several  days  we  had 
things  easy.  Our  belated  Sibley  tents  arrived  from 
somewhere,  the  weather  was  fine,  and  we  were  comfor- 
table, to  say  the  least.  We  mingled  with  the  old  Jersey 
soldiers  and  listened  to  their  stories  with  interest — and 
consternation.     They  soon  convinced  us  that  our  enlist' 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  67 

ment  was  not  likely  to  be  "a  season  of  pleasure  and 
victorious  conquest,"  but  that  we  were  about  to  undergo 
hardships  and  sufferings  then  unknown  to  all  but 
veterans. 

Congress  was  in  session,  then  day  and  night,  and  some 
of  us  went  over  on  passes  and  saw  the  lawmakers  at  work. 
I  became  acquainted  with  Senator  McDougall,previousl3r 
governor  of  California.  I  don't  remember  exactly  how 
it  was,  but  somehow  he  took  a  notion  to  me,  and  after- 
ward proved  a  friend. 

It  was  not  all  play,  however.  We  were  put  through 
much  drilling,  and  kept  at  work  with  the  pick  and 
shovel  throwing  up  earthworks  until  our  soft  hands 
were  blistered.  It  is  a  big  jump  from  setting  type  to 
digging  trenches. 

"Sure'n  I  didn't  'list  for  this,"  said  Reddy  Mahar,  one 
afternoon,  "I  'listed  to  fight  the  Johnny  Rebs,  and  not 
to  dig  holes  in  the  ground.  Be  jabers,  oim  going  to 
sthrike!" 

Lem  Smith  was  of  similar  opinion.  John  Ick  thought 
it  was  a  little  better  than  a  slaughter  house  anyway. 
Jack  Butter  worth  said  it  was  harder  than  turning  bob- 
bins in  Daggers  &  Row's  shop.  Curt  Bowne  thought  it 
a  shame.     Discontent  ruled  the  whole  line. 

So  an  "indignation  meeting"  was  held,  and  a  com- 
mittee appointed  to  "wait  on  the  colonel."  The  colonel 
said  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  privates ;  all  complaints 
must  come  through  the  captain.  That  was  "according 
to  regulations."  The  committee  then  waited  on  the 
captain. 

"Go  back  to  work,  or  you'll  go  to  the  guardhouse," 
said  he.  "A  soldier  has  nothing  to  do  except  obey 
orders.     Your  orders  are  to  dig  that  trench." 

"But,"  said  the  spokesman,  "we  enlisted  for  soldiers, 
not  to " 

The  sentence  was  interrupted  by  a  peculiar  drum 
beat.  The  officers  hurried  to  the  colonel's  tent.  In  a 
moment  Captain  Irish  returned  and  ordered  Company 
K  to  fall  in. 

The  whole  regiment  assembled  in  dress  parade. 
Looking  to  the  other  camps  we  could  see  all  the  regi- 
ments doing  the  same  thing.     The  adjutant  read  an 


68  THE  YOUNG-   VOLUNTEER. 

order.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  General  George  B. 
McClellan  has  been  reassigned  to  the  command  of  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac. 

We  all  cheered.  I  didn't  know  why.  Perhaps  be- 
cause all  the  other  regiments  were  cheering.  A  mighty 
chorus  of  hurrahs  arose  from  the  assembled  army.  The 
raw  recruits  were  not  aware  of  the  fact  that  McClellan, 
no  matter  how  much  he  might  be  in  disfavor  with  the 
''heavy  weights"  at  the  head  of  the  government  was 
the  idol  of  the  older  soldiers.  His  reassignment  to  com- 
mand filled  them  with  enthusiasm,  and  they  cheered; 
we  cheered  to  be  in  fashion,  if  for  nothing  else. 

But  there  was  another  order.  It  involved  dropping 
the  pick  and  shovel,  and  so  it  ended  Company  K's 
threatened  "strike."  It  was  an  order  to  be  in  readiness 
to  move  at  a  moment's  notice. 

That  afternoon,  Saturday,  September  6,  1862,  it  got 
out  somehow  that  Lee  with  his  whole  army  had  skirted 
Washington  and  was  over  in  Maryland  making  his 
way  as  fast  as  he  could  toward  Pennsylvania.  Unless 
stopped  the  enemy  would  soon  be  through  Delaware  and 
in  New  Jersey,  on  the  way  to  New  York. 

Instinctively  every  man  thought  of  his  home  and 
family. 

"Why  didn't  they  keep  us  at  Newark?"  asked  Jack 
Butterworth.     ' '  We  would  have  been  of  more  use  there. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  guess  we'll  head  them  off,"  answered  John 
Stansfield.  "Besides  I'd  rather  be  along  with  the  rest 
of  the  army  than  fighting  the  whole  Southern  Confed- 
eracy with  a  single  regiment." 

So  thought  I.  Besides,  I  rather  liked  the  idea  of  Lee 
and  his  army  marching  up  Main  street,  Paterson.  I'd 
like  to  see  an  attack  on  the  man  who  ordered  that  pound 
of  cheese.  And  I  wondered  how  those  patriotic  citizens 
who  had  induced  me  to  enlist  would  act  when  they 
got  a  dose  of  their  own  medicine. 

We  talked  the  matter  over  that  night  and  speculated 
on  coming  events  till  we  v/ere  tired,  and  finally  went  to 
bed  on  our  blanket  mattresses  in  the  comfortable  Sibley 
tents. 

But  not  to  sleep.  We  had  scarcely  closed  our  eyes, 
when  once  more  that  infernal  drum  began  beating  in  a 
way  we'd  never  heard  it  beat  before. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  r  69 

"What  is  that?"  we  asked. 

"It's  the  long  roll,"  said  Sergeant  Heber  Wells,  as 
he  stuck  his  head  through  the  flap  of  our  tent. 

^The  long  roll?  what  does  that  mean?" 

"It  means  to  pack  up,  boys,"  replied  the  sergeant, 
with  considerable  agitation  manifested  in  his  voice. 
'Pack  up  at  once,  get  ready  for  a  long  march.  And  be 
quick  about  it.     There's  no  time  to  lose." 

What  could  it  mean?  Was  the  enemy  unexpectedly 
upon  us,  after  all? 


70  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A   MARCH  IN  THE   DARK. 

Like  the  Arab  of  old  we  stole  away  in  the  night. 

But  not  "quietly."  It  was  with  a  noise  and  a  clatter, 
with  cheer  and  jest,  as  if  it  were  a  moonlight  excursion. 
We  were  loaded  like  pack  mules.  Our  haversacks  were 
stuffed  with  three  days'  rations.  Our  canteens  were 
filled  to  the  brim.  In  our  cartridge  boxes  were  forty 
rounds  of  ammunition,  forty  ounces  of  which  were 
leaden  bullets.  Our  knapsacks  were  packed  like  Sara- 
toga trunks,  and  the  straps  fairly  cracked. 

All  went  smoothly  enough  for  a  while,  and  we  kept  a 
pretty  good  line  as  Ave  crossed  the  aqueduct  bridge  into 
Georgetown.  And  by  the  way  Georgetown  with  its 
surroundings  looked  then  pretty  much  as  it  does  now. 
I  remember  well  my  last  glance  at  Washington.  In 
the  far  distance  was  the  Capitol,  all  lighted  up,  for 
Congress  was  holding  one  of  its  usual  night  sessions.  In 
the  rear  of  the  "White  House  was  a  camp.  I  think  it 
was  the  Tenth  New  Jersey,  which  was  detailed  for  guard 
duty.     Lucky  Tenth !     Unlucky  Thirteenth ! 

When  I  returned  to  Washington  next,  it  was  also  in 
the  night.  But  I  didn't  see  much  of  it.  I  was  only  a 
wounded  soldier,  en  route  for  the  hospital.  Never  mind 
now.     That  comes  later,  and  much  comes  before  it. 

Unused  as  we  were  to  marching,  loaded  down  as  we 
were  with  superfluous  weight,  it  soon  began  to  tell  on  us. 
One  by  one  the  raw  and  soft  recruits  began  to  fall  by 
the  wayside,  utterly  exhausted.  We  were  beginning 
to  appreciate  the  fact  which  all  old  soldiers  knew  by 
experience,  that  if  there  is  any  one  thing  worse  than  a 
battle  it  is  a  long  march.  Indeed  for  long-continued 
suffering,  for  indescribable  agony,  both  physical  and 
mental,  for  everything  except  the  horror,  marching  is 
vastly  worse  than  fighting. 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  71 

To  the  veterans  it  was  comparatively  easy.  They 
were  hardened,  toughened.  A  thoroughly  trained 
athlete  can  run  live,  ten,  or  even  fifteen  miles.  An  un- 
trained man  would  be  fatigued  at  as  many  rods.  We 
were  like  a  bicyclist  when  he  starts  to  ride  in  the  spring, 
after  a  winter's  rest.  And  the  boys  dropped  from  the 
ranks  like  drops  from  an  icicle  in  the  sun. 

I  was  young  and  wiry  and  stuck  it  out.  But  I  was 
glad  enough  when  about  midnight  were:  marched  into  a 
big  field ;  our  guns  were  stacked,  and  we  threw  ourselves 
down  on  the  ground,  just  as  we  were,  for  a  few  hours' 
needed  rest  and  sleep.  Everybody  was  too  tired  to  jest, 
too  tired  to  talk.     We  needed  no  rocking  to  sleep. 

"Wake  up,  Joe,  wake  up!  There's  no  rest  for  the 
wicked." 

It  was  John  Stansfield,  who  was  lying  alongside  me. 

"What  in  thunder  are  you  doing?"  I  demanded 
angrily;  "can't  you  let  a  fellow  sleep?" 

"Get  up,"  he  repeated,  giving  me  a  punch  in  the  ribs, 
"we've  got  to  tramp  again." 

It  was  too  true.  We  were  ordered  to  fall  in ;  and  we 
hadn't  rested  an  hour.  It  was  a  sleepy  crowd  that 
formed  the  crooked  line  of  men  comprising  Company  K. 
But  it  was  dark  and  no  one  to  see  us.  Furthermore 
the  officers  were  as  sleepy  as  we  were. 

Now  company  officers  march  the  same  as  the  "men;" 
but  they  have  to  carry  no  baggage.  That  is  carried  in 
the  wagons.  All  the  foot  officers  have  to  carry  is  their 
swords — and,  generally,  a  flask!  The  officers  higher 
than  captains  rode  horseback. 

What  we  were  aroused  for  unless  to  make  us  more 
tired,  I  don't  know.  But  we  were  marched  up  the  road 
and  down  the  road  and  back  again,  halted  and  counter- 
marched, until  finally  we  were  once  more  told  to  "  break 
ranks"  in  a  field  adjoining  the  first  one,  and  once  more 
wa  threw  ourselves  on  the  ground  almost  dead. 

To  a  private  soldier  these  mysterious  movements  were 
always  inexplicable.  Every  veteran  can  recall  thou- 
sands of  such  experiences  which  then  seemed  and  seem 
now  to  have  been  utterly  unnecessary,  and  concocted 
for  no  other  purpose  than  to  fatigue  and  annoy.  The 
misery,  torture  and  suffering  caused  by  these  unexplained 
maneuvers  could  never  be  described. 


72  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday. 

"I  guess  they'll  give  us  a  rest  to-day,"  said  John 
Butterworth  to  me. 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"Because  it  is  Sunday.  We  haven't  heard  the  chap- 
lain yet.  You  know  he's  to  preach  every  Sunday,  and 
of  course  we  can't  march  and  go  to  church  at  the  same 
time." 

I  had  forgotten  the  chaplain.  He  was  Rev.  T. 
Romeyn  Beck.  He  is  still  living,  and  is  pastor  of  a 
church  in  California.  He  was  a  nice  sort  of  a  fellow, 
but  didn't  do  much  preaching,  if  I  remember  correctly. 
The  chaplain  wore  a  uniform  of  solemn  black,  even  to 
the  buttons.  He  rode  with  the  colonel  and  major  and 
altogether  had  quite  a  soft  snap  of  it. 

Chaplains  didn't  do  much  fighting.  They  were  sup- 
posed to  administer  spiritual  consolation  on  the  battle- 
field; but  as  a  usual  thing  they,  like  the  old  war-horse, 
"smelled  the  battle  from  afar."  The  rate  of  mortality 
among  the  chaplains  was  not  high.  I  don't  think  the 
life  insurance  companies  classed  them  as  "extra  haz- 
ardous." I  don't  say  our  chaplain  was  never  in  a  bat- 
tle ;  but  I  can  say  I  never  saw  him  in  one.  But  then 
perhaps  I  was  generally  too  scared  to  see  anybody  in 
particular. 

But  nevertheless  Chaplain  Beck  was  a  nice  man  and 
kind  to  us  soldier  boys.  The  chaplain  was  usually 
the  regimental  postmaster.  I  forget  whether  Chaplain 
Beck  or  the  one  who  succeeded  him  was  the  victim  of  a 
cruel  joke  late  in  the  campaign,  which  I  might  as  well 
tell  here  as  anywhere. 

There  had  been  no  mail  for  several  weeks  and  the 
boys  were  getting  impatient  to  hear  from  home.  They 
fairly  pestered  the  life  out  of  the  chaplain  to  know  when 
the  mail  would  be  in.  He  couldn't  go  anywhere  or  at- 
tempt to  do  a  thing  without  meeting  some  one  with  the 
inquiry  about  mail.  There  is  a  limit  to  the  endurance 
even  of  clergymen.  Getting  tired  of  answering  questions 
the  following  notice  was  posted  outside  the  chaplain's 
tent: 

"The  chaplain  does  not  know  when  the  mail  will  be 
in." 


THE  TO  UNO-   VOLUNTEER.  73 

The  boys  didn't  like  this.  It  was  shutting  them  off 
too  summarily .  Finally  a  wag  got  a  piece  of  charcoal 
and  made  an  addition  to  the  sign. 

All  the  bo}rs  tittered  when  they  saw  it,  but  sneaked 
out  of  sight  when  they  saw  Colonel  Carman  approach- 
ing. He  gave  one  glance  at  the  sign  in  front  of  the 
tent,  and  then  stuck  his  head  in  the  opening. 

"Say,  cap,"  said  he,  addressing  the  chaplain,  "what 
sort  of  a  notice  is  this  you  have  out  here?" 

"Oh,"  replied  ho,  "the  boys  are  bothering  me  so 
much  about  the  mails  that  I  thought  I  would  post  a 
general  answer,  so  that  they  may  all  read  it." 

"But  isn't  the  language  rather  rough?"  inquired  the 
colonel. 

"It's  all  right,  isn't  it?" 

"Just  look  at  it  and  see  how  it  reads,  cap." 

The  chaplain  stepped  out,  bareheaded,  and  this  is  the 
sign  that  met  his  astonished  gaze : 

"The  chaplain  doea  not  know  when  the  mail  will  be 
in — neither  does  he  care  a  damn!" 

That  sign  came  down,  and  never  again  did  anything 
of  the  kind  appear  in  front  of  his  tent. 

But  this  is  a  digression.  We  will  dismiss  the  chap- 
lain by  saying  that  we  had  no  religious  services  that 
day,  nor  for  many  a  long  day. 

Neither  were  we  allowed  to  have  a  rest.  Tired  and 
stiff  as  we  were,  with  our  legs  cramped  and  sore,  with 
blood  in  our  shoes  from  chafed  feet,  wo  were  relentlessly 
ordered  to  fall  in  to  resume  the  pitiless  march. 

And  never  shall   I  forget  that  day ! 


74  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

SUNSTRUCK. 

No,  never  shall  I  forget  that  day — that  hot  Sunday, 
September  7,  1862. 

The  sun  rose  like  a  red,  burnished  copper  globe.  Not 
a  breath  of  air  was  stirring.  The  atmosphere  was 
torrid,  stifling,  enervating.  It  was  pitilessly  hot.  And 
we  were  stiff,  sore,  and  filled  with  strange  pains  and 
aches  from  the  previous  night's  march. 

But  what  mattered  that?  What  were  the  personal 
suffering  of  individuals  in  a  vast  army!  Cruel  and  re- 
lentless it  seemed  to  us,  raw  recruits  that  we  were,  fresh 
from  the  customary  considerations  of  civil  life,  that  we 
should  be  forced  to  resume  the  terrible  march. 

And  here  let  me  state  a  curious  fact.  Any  one  would 
naturally  imagine  that  the  men  who  best  stood  the 
rigors  of  an  army  march  would  be  those  who  filled  the 
hardest  positions  in  civil  life.  An  express- wagon  driver, 
accustomed  to  lifting  heavy  boxes;  a  back  wood  sman, 
inured  to  hardships  and  exposure;  a  blacksmith  or  a 
day  laborer — these  are  the  men  one  would  imagine  the 
best  toughened  for  soldier  life.  But  such  was  not  the 
case.  The  men  who  stood  it  out  the  best  were  those 
who  were  accustomed  to  the  lightest  work  at  home. 
Bookkeepers,  dry  goods  clerks,  men  who  never  lifted 
anything  heavier  than  a  ledger  or  a  roll  of  calico — these 
were  the  men  who  could  endure  the  most  hardship  and 
fatigue. 

Any  old  officer  of  the  army  will  tell  you  that  this  is 
so.  It  is  a  singular  fact.  It  was  often  discussed  and 
commented  upon,  but  no  explanation  was  ever  given. 
It  was  simply  so  and  that  settled  it. 

And  so  it  was  on  this  hot  September  morning.  The 
men  who  had  been  regarded,  the  most  hardy  seemed  to 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  75 

suffer  the  most.  Those  who  had  had  the  hardest  phys- 
ical labor  at  home  were  the  stiffest,  the  sorest,  the  most 
complaining.  Although  I  had  never  had  hard  work  in 
the  printing  office  and  was  not  naturally  robust,  I  prob- 
ably suffered  as  little  as  anybody,  as  far  as  physical 
ailment  was  concerned,  except  for  the  intolerably  raw 
blisters  on  my  feet,  caused  by  the  unpliable  brogans  and 
thick  coarse  stockings,  the  latter  being  so  much  too 
large  that  they  were  as  full  of  wrinkles  as  the  skin  of  a 
hippopotamus. 

There  was  one  thing  that  worried  me  that  morning, 
however.  It  was  the  heat,  and  threatened  promise  of 
what  we  now  call  "a  scorcher."  I  never  could  stand 
the  fierce  rays  of  the  summer  sun ;  but  never  dreaded  it 
so  much  as  I  did  that  morning.  Was  it  a  presentiment 
of  what  was  to  happen?     Who  knows? 

That  morning  was  our  first  experience  with  "hard- 
tack." Hitherto  we  had  had  fresh  bread;  but  that 
"soft  stuff"  had  run  out,  and  we  were  compelled  to 
draw  upon  the  rations  in  our  haversacks.  Now,  as  ex- 
plained in  a  previous  chapter,  a  hard -tack  is  an  innocent- 
and  soft-looking  thing.  But  he  who  tackles  one  finds 
that  he  is  a  victim  of  misplaced  confidence.  They  look 
like  soda  crackers.     But  they  are  not  soda  crackers. 

When  I  struck  the  first  one  I  thought  that  I  had  en- 
countered an  unusually  ancient  specimen.  I  could  make 
no  more  impression  on  it  than  a  missionary  could  on  the 
heart  of  a  Fiji  cannibal.  I  turned  to  my  comrade, 
Heber  Wells,  and  saw  him  trying  to  pull  a  tooth.  At 
least  so  it  seemed.  He  was  only  trying  to  get  a  bite  out 
of  the  hard-tack. 

"How  does  it  go?"  I  asked. 

"Don't  go  at  all,"  he  replied.  "How  do  you  eat  these 
things,  anyhow?" 

"I  tell  you  how  I  did  it,"  said  John  Stansfield.  "I 
smashed  mine  between  a  couple  of  stones." 

"By  jimminey,"  said  John  Ick,  "I  tried  that,  and  by 
jimminey  I  proke  dose  stones  alrettj7,  and  never  proke 
dot,  vat  you  callem,  dot  hart-tack. ' ' 

Jake  Engle  had,  however,  got  a  pointer  from^one  of 
the  older  soldiers,  who  had  taught  him  how  to  made 
"lobskouse."   Now  what  bread  and  butter  is  to  a  person 


76  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

at  home,  that  is  "lobskouse"  to  the  soldier.     Here  is 
the  way  to  make  the  great  army  dish. 

Take  a  bit  of  fat  pork  and  melt  it  over  the  fire  in  a 
frying-pan  or  tin  plat9.  Break  up  the  hard-tack  into 
small  pieces  and  drop  it  into  the  frying  fat.  Let  the 
whole  mess  sizzle  together  until  the  cracker  is  saturated 
with  the  fat  and  the  result  is  a  product  that  looks  and 
tastes  like  pie  crust.  It  is  quite  palatable.  The  crack- 
ers are  softened  and  you  can  eat  the  stuff,  and  over  a 
million  men  could  testify  that  it  would  sustain  life. 
Where  all  other  supplies  were  unattainable,  "lobskouse" 
was  generally  available,  and  scarcely  a  day  passed  but 
that  it  did  not  form  the  principal  dish  for  at  least  one 
meal. 

Indigestible  stuff,  you  say?  Well,  who  ever  heard 
of  a  soldier  having  dyspepsia?  Of  all  the  ailments  that 
came  along  to  make  the  soldier's  life  miserable,  indi- 
gestion was  one  of  the  things  he  never  complained  of. 
Ye  dyspeptics,  who  swallow  nostrums  and  patent  med- 
icines by  the  barrel,  consider  the  ways  of  the  soldiers 
and  be  wise.  Go  to  the  war  and  be  shot,  and  you'll 
have  no  more  dyspepsia.  Nor  will  you  have  any  more 
even  if  you  are  not  shot. 

As  soon  as  we  had  gulped  down  our  lobskouse  and 
black  coffee,  we  fell  in  and  were  marched  down  to  the 
edge  of  the  field  near  the  highway.  There  we  waited 
for  an  hour  or  more,  watching  the  passing  troops.  Was 
there  no  end  to  them?  The  line  seemed  interminable. 
Infantry,  cavalry,  artillery,  baggage  wagons  and  am- 
bulances, in  an  endless  row — the  men  and  horses  four 
abreast,  the  wagons  and  cannons  two  abreast.  They 
were  mostly  old  soldiers,  and,  of  course,  dirty  soldiers. 
They  looked  like  tramps.  But  few  carried  knapsacks. 
They  carried  their  blankets  in  a  roll  over  their 
shoulders. 

Each  of  the  men  carried  a  quart  cup  or  a  tomato  can, 
tied  to  his  haversack.  These  had  wire  handles  or  bales, 
making  them  into  little  tin  pails.  Each  one  was  as 
black  as  a  stovepipe  from  smoke.  We  did  not  know 
then  what  we  learned  afterward,  that  the  tin  pails  con- 
stituted the  main  cooking  utensil  of  the  army.  On  the 
march  and  field  every  man  is  his  own  cook. 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  77 

Some  carried  frying-pans.  At  each  step  the  tin  pails, 
canteens  and  other  things  rattle  together  with  a  "clink- 
ety -clink,"  "clinkety -clink"  that  sounded  like  an  or- 
chestra of  cracked  cowbells.  In  the  still  of  the  night 
you  could  hear  the  clatter  of  the  tinware  of  an  army 
miles  away.     All  this  was  new  to  us  raw  recruits. 

After  an  apparently  interminable  wait,  we  were 
finally  ordered  to  fall  in  the  seemingly  endless  proces- 
sion.    The  trouble  began. 

Now  those  who  have  never  marched  in  an  army  know 
nothing  of  the  most  exasperating  features.  When  you 
see  a  company  or  regiment  of  militia  marching  up  a 
street  you  are  pleased  with  the  regularity  of  the  step 
and  the  nicely  maintained  distance  between  the  lines. 
But  suppose  a  train  came  along  while  crossing  the 
railroad,  or  a  street  car  gets  into  the  way,  there  is  a 
break  and  delay.  When  the  obstruction  is  removed, 
the  rear  of  the  column  has  to  march  in  quick  step  to 
close  up  the  gap  caused  by  the  forward  end  keeping  on 
the  go  while  the  rear  is  stopped. 

In  the  army  there  were  such  obstructions  in  the  shape 
of  broken  wagons  or  caissons,  narrow  bridges,  or  brooks 
to  cross.  The  front  men  narrowed  the  width  of  the 
column  and  marched  past,  while  the  rear  slowed  up. 
With  a  few  men  this  amounted  to  nothing ;  but  when 
extended  down  and  through  a  line  of  thousands  or  tens 
of  thousands,  those  in  the  rear  had  frequent  halts  of 
half  an  hour  or  so,  and  then  a  stiff  race  of  five  or  ten 
minutes  to  catch  up.  This  was  very  wearing  and  fa- 
tiguing. Old  soldiers  knew  enough  to  lie  down  every 
minute  they  could  and  reserve  their  strength  and  en- 
durance.    We  were  ignorant. 

As  the  sun  rose  in  the  sky  it  grew  hotter  and  hotter. 
It  was  a  perfect  broil.  The  perspiration  fell  in  streams 
from  our  faces  and  rolled  down  our  backs.  Our  thick 
underclothing  stuck  to  our  skin  like  wet  sheets.  Our 
backs  began  to  ache.  The  numerous  straps  on  our 
shoulders  cut  into  the  very  flesh.  Whatever  way  we 
carried  our  guns  they  seemed  heavier  than  before.  It 
was  torture.  Nine  out  of  ten  men  were  limping  as  if 
lame  from  the  constantly  increasing  size  of  the  raw 
blisters  on  their  feet. 


•78  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

We  Were  in  Maryland  and  were  to  march,  it  was 
said,  until  we  reached  Rockville.  How  far  was  it?  we 
asked  the  first  "native' '  we  encountered.  ' '  Right  about 
nine  mile,  I  reckon,"  he  said. 

After  marching  an  hour  or  so  longer  we  asked  another 
Maryland  rustic  how  far  it  was  to  Rockville. 

"Right  about  nine  mile!" 

And  so  it  was.  Everybody  we  asked,  no  matter  how 
much  further  we  went,  "reckoned  it  were  about  nine 
mile." 

I  saw  the  other  fellows  lightening  their  load  and  fol- 
lowed suit.  First  went  an  extra  suit  of  underclothes. 
"Every  little  helps."  A  while  later  and  I  discarded  by 
the  wayside  a  comb  and  brush,  a  shaving  set,  a  box  of 
blacking  and  brush.  "Every  pound  counts."  A  mile 
further  and  I  pulled  out  two  cakes  of  soap,  a  couple  of 
towels,  a  pincushion  and  sewing  case.  "A  little  bet- 
ter." 

But  no  use.     What  the  others  were  doing  I  would  do. 

It  seemed  a  pity  to  throw  away  the  nice  overcoat  and 
blouse  and  dress  coat,  but  they  had  to  go.  And  finally 
the  knapsack  itself  followed,  leaving  nothing  but  the 
rubber  and  woolen  blankets.  The  heaviest  thing  of  all, 
the  cartridge  box,  we  couldn't  discard,  for  soldiers  must 
fight.  The  most  useful  things,  the  haversack  and 
canteen,  we  stuck  to,  for  soldiers  must   eat  and  drink. 

The  road  for  miles  was  strewn  with  things  that  cost 
the  government  much  money.  But  what  odds?  Uncle 
Sam  was  rich,  and  we  were  only  doing  what  every  new 
soldier  had  done  before  us  and  what  all  soldiers  will 
do  hereafter,  to  the  beginning  of  the  millennium  when 
there  will  be  no  more  war.  By  noon  we  were,  that  is 
the  most  of  us,  down  to  the  lightest  marching  order  of 
the  oldest  veterans  in  the  line. 

As  I  intimated,  not  all  of  us.  Some  sturdy  fellows 
stuck  to  their  loads.  Sergeant  Heber  Wells,  for  in- 
stance, who  did  not  discard  a  single  article  from  his 
stuffed  knapsack,  nor  that  comical  fellow  "Jeff  Davis," 
who  all  through  the  war  persisted  in  carrying  two 
knapsacks. 

The  pitiless  sun  shortly  after  noon  began  to  get  in  its 
fine  work.     One  by  one  the  men  fell  out.     Hank  Van 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  ?9 

Orden  was  the  first  of  Company  K  to  succumb.  His 
mind  suddenly  grew  flighty,  he  mumbled  a  few  inar- 
ticulate meaningless  words,  threw  up  his  arms,  gave  a 
yell,  and  fell  like  a  log,  senseless.  He  was  rolled  to  the 
side  of  the  road  and  left  "for  the  ambulance  to  pick  up. " 
A  moment  later  Lem  Smith  raised  his  hands,  clutched  the 
air,  and  fell.  John  Snyder  dropped  like  a  bullock  felled 
with  an  axe.  Poor  John  Ick,  who  had  quite  appro- 
priately been  prating  about  "slaughter  nouses"  and 
"shambles,"  was  the  next  victim.  Soon  after  fat  John 
Farlow  staggered  to  the  side  path  and  threw  himself 
down  in  the  miserable  shade  of  a  rail  fence.  Archy 
Todd  reeled  like  a  top  two  or  three  times,  and  fell  for- 
ward on  his  face  in  the  dusty  road. 

And  so  it  went.  By  3  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  not 
thirty  of  the  ninety  members  of  Company  K  were  in 
the  line,  and  it  was  correspondingly  the  same  in  all 
the  other  companies  of  the  regiment.  There  were  per- 
haps three  times  as  many  members  of  the  Thirteenth 
stretched  along  the  roadside  than  there  were  in  the  ranks. 

Aside  from  the  suffering  from  the  sun  and  the  torture 
from  the  heavy  load  and  from  our  bleeding  feet,  there 
was  a  marked  mental  depression,  consequent  upon  the 
sight  of  so  many  of  our  comrades  falling  out.  It  is  a 
well-known  fact  that  when  one  or  two  girls  faint  in  a 
mill  or  in  a  school,  a  dozen  will  do  likewise.  _  Any  old 
factory  foreman  or  teacher  will  tell  you  this.  To  a 
certain  extent  the  same  species  of  hysteria  affects  men. 
I  know  it  affected  me. 

And  as  said  before,  I  never  could  stand  the  sun. 
What  I  suffered  that  day  no  man  can  ever  know  unless 
he  has  been  through  the  same  experience. 

Along  about  3  o'clock  I  guess  it  was,  I  suddenly 
noticed  that  the  trees  and  fences  were  beginning  to 
dance.  The  soldiers  in  front  of  me  were  turning  rapid 
somersaults.  There  was  a  horrible  sickness  of  the 
stomach  and  my  head  seemed  about  to  split  open ! 

For  an  instant  tho  air  was  full  of  stars !  Then  the  sky 
turned  green !     Then  black ! 

Then — utter  oblivion ! 

J  was  sunstruck ! 


80  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AT  ROCKVILLE. 

"No,  he  isn't  going  to  die.  He'll  come  around  all 
right." 

"It  was  a  close  shave,  though;  wasn't  it,  doctor?" 

"Yes,  it  was.  But  the  danger  is  over  now.  Keep 
him  right  here  under  the  shade  of  this  tree,  and  keep 
the  towel  on  his  head  wet  with  cool  water.  Don't  give 
him  any  more  of  the  brandy  without  letting  me  know 
first." 

This  is  part  of  a  conversation  I  hear,  in  a  dim,  hazy 
sort  of  a  way.  It  seems  afar  off,  or  as  if  in  another 
room,  through  partly  closed  doors.  Yet  it  is  distinct, 
in  a  certain  way.  What  does  it  mean?  Oh,  how  my 
head  aches ! 

Where  am  I?  What  has  happened?  What  am  I 
doing  here,  with  my  head  done  up  in  wet  towels,  lying 
on  the  grass  under  a  tree?  For  a  moment  I  think  I  am 
on  my  old  grandfather's  farm,  lying  in  the  orchard,  as 
I  used  to  do.  But  that  pain  in  my  head !  What  does 
it  mean?    And  I  feel  so  sick — oh,  so  sick ! 

I  open  my  eyes  and  dimly  see  the  men  moving  about. 
Ha!  There's  Liv  Allen  and  Davy  Harris.  It's  the 
Guardian  office.  There's  been  an  accident  somehow, 
and  I've  been  hurt.  I'll  ask.  But  wait.  How  funny 
they  look,  all  dressed  in  blue.  Where  are  their  work- 
ing aprons?  I  can't  think.  It's  too  much.  My  head! 
My  head !  I  cannot  rest  a  bit.  Let  me  think.  Where 
am  I? 

"Fall  in  for  your  supper,  boys." 

What's  that  I  hear?  "Boys?"  "Supper."  "Fall 
in!"     Oh,  my  head!     How  bewildered  I  am !    Oh! 

In  a  minute,  as  if  by  magic,  a  veil  seems  to  roll  away 
and  I  recognized  the  voice  I  had  heard  as  Jake  Engle's, 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  SI 

Jake !  Oh,  yes,  Jake,  who  has  been  appointed  company- 
cook,  the  cook  for  Company  K,  when  in  camp.  It's  all 
coming  back  now.  I  remember,  I  enlisted.  Yes,  that 
march.  The  men  falling  around  us,  like  so  many  ten- 
pins. The  terrible  heat,  I  remember  now.  "Was  I  too 
sunstruck? 

With  an  effort  I  pull  myself  together  and  speak. 
Who  was  leaning  over  me  but  the  captain,  the  kind- 
hearted  Captain  Irish — who  had  less  than  ten  days  more 
to  live  himself ! 

"How  do  you  feel,  Joe?"  he  asked,  taking  my  hand. 

"Got  a  terrible  headache,"  I  replied.  "But  what 
happened?     Was  I  sunstruck?" 

"Yes,  but  you're  all  right  now,  the  doctor  says." 

The  captain  then  told  me  that  I  had  fallen  out,  like 
the  others,  a  little  after  3  o'clock,  and  that  it  was  now 
after  6.  I  had  been  picked  up  and  brought  along  by 
one  of  the  ambulances.  I  had  been  unconscious  for 
nearly  three  hours,  and  at  one  time  they  thought  I  was 
dead. 

The  captain  told  me  that  we  were  at  a  place  called 
Rockville,  in  the  State  of  Maryland,  twenty-two  miles 
from  Washington ;  we  had  only  marched  fourteen  miles 
that  day,  but  the  sun  was  so  hot  and  the  boys  so  unused 
to  marching  that  when  they  reached  the  camping-place, 
about  5  o'clock,  there  were  less  than  two  hundred  of 
the  Thirteenth  present.  Out  of  nine  hundred  men,  only 
two  hundred  stood  it  out.  Seven  hundred  men  had  suc- 
cumbed to  the  fierce  heat  of  that  hot  September  day  and 
fallen  by  the  wayside ! 

No  man  ever  fully  recovers  from  the  effects  of  a  gen- 
uine sunstroke.  I  have  suffered  from  it  in  more  ways 
than  one,  ever  since.  A  few  moments  in  the  hot  sun  is 
sure  to  bring  on  symptoms  that  are  danger- singals  for 
precautionary  measures.  Perhaps  that  sunstroke  has 
been  the  cause  of  many  subsequent  sins  of  omission  and 
commission.  I  trust  that  my  critics  will  bear  this  in 
mind  and  make  allowance  for  shortcomings ! 

Captain  Irish  had  in  his  hand  as  he  spoke  to  me  a  box 
of  some  sort  of  salve  or  ointment.  Noticing  my  inquir- 
ing look,  he  said : 


82  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

"  When  they  pulled  off  your  shoes,  I  noticed  that  your 
feet  were  bleeding  from  the  blisters.  I  had  some  oint- 
ment that  Mrs.  Irish  made.  It  is  from  an  old  family 
receipt.  I  think  your  feet  won't  hurt  you  so  much 
now." 

"But,  captain,"  I  interrupted.  "You  don't  mean  to 
say  you  have  been  rubbing  my  feet  with  ointment? 
You  did  not  do  it  yourself,  1  hope:"' 

His  answer  made  a  lump  come  into  my  throat. 

"Why  certainly,  Joe.     Why  not?" 

I  turned  my  head,  because  I  did  not  want  him  to  see 
the  tears  in  my  eyes.  Just  think  of  it !  A  captain  bath- 
ing the  sore  feet  of  a  private !  How  many  soldiers  in 
the  army  can  recall  a  case  like  that?  But  there  was 
only  one  Captain  Irish.  Do  you  wonder  his  men  learned 
to  worship  him  in  the  short  time  he  lived  to  serve  his 
country?  Do  you  wonder  that  his  old  soldiers  touch 
their  hats  reverently  to  this  day,  when  his  name  is  men- 
tioned? Not  only  was  he  a  brave  patriot,  but  a  kind, 
tender-hearted  man,  beloved  as  a  father  by  the  men  in 
his  company. 

But  no  matter  what  the  after  effect  may  be,  the  im- 
mediate recuperative  powers  inherent  in  a  healthy  boy 
of  seventeen  or  eighteen  are  wonderful,  and  with  the 
exception  of  a  slight  headache  and  general  played- 
outness,  I  felt  quite  well  the  next  day,  and  went  around 
pretty  much  as  the  others. 

The  men  who  had  fallen  out  like  myself  had  returned 
to  the  regiment  and  we  again  assumed  the  appearance 
of  a  camp. 

To  enhance  our  comfort  our  big  Sibley  tents  arrived 
from  somewhere  unknown  to  us,  and  we  were  soon  in 
as  good  a  shape  as  at  Camp  Frelinghuysen  in  Newark, 
with  the  exception  that  there  were  a  number  who  were 
still  somewhat  under  the  weather  from  the  unaccus- 
tomed exposure  and  the  fatigue  of  the  march. 

This  resulted  in  the  introduction  of,  to  us,  a  new  feat- 
ure of  army  experience,  the  surgeon.  Dr.  Love  and  his 
assistant,  Dr.  Freeman,  had  put  up  their  medical  tent, 
and  started  business.  And  they  were  doing  quite  a 
business. 

The  sick  soldiers  in  the  army  are  divided  into  three 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  83 

classes.  One  class  includes  those  who  are  confined  to 
their  tents ;  the  second  those  who  are  confined  to  the 
hospital ;  and  the  third  those  who  are  able  to  go  to  the 
surgical  headquarters  for  their  medicine.  Those  in  the 
hospital  or  tents  were  visited  as  often  as  necessity  re- 
quired— the  same  as  a  doctor  would  do  in  civil  life. 
With  the  others  it  was  as  follows : 

Every  morning  at  8  o'clock  the  drummer  and  fifer 
detailed  at  the  regiment  headquarters  would  sound  the 
"sick  call."  The  tune  played  by  the  fifer  was  some- 
thing like  "Johnny,  get  your  gun,"  but  the  way  the 
boys  interpreted  it  was  this : 

"  Come,  get  your  blue  pills, 
Blue  pills,  blue  pills, 
Come,  get  your  blue  pills, 
Blue  pills,  blue. " 

The  point  of  this  was  that  it  was  a  tradition  in  the 
army  that  the  surgeons  had  onl}T  one  kind  of  medicine, 
and  that  was  calomel;  or  as  commonly  called,  "blue 
pills."  If  a  soldier  had  a  headache  or  a  sore  toe,  the 
remedy  was  a  blue  pill.  If  an  indiscreet  forager  had 
indulged  in  too  much  surreptitious  green  corn,  the  proper 
remedy  was  a  blue  pill.  If  in  the  ordinary  course  of 
events  the  ailment  was  of  a  contrary  character,  what 
you  wanted  was  a  good  dose  of  blue  pills.  No  matter 
what  was  the  matter,  the  remedy  was  blue  pills. 

I  am  not  a  doctor.  Whether  there  was  any  truth  in 
this  story  about  blue  pills  being  a  regulation  pan- 
acea for  all  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to,  I  am  unable  to 
affirm.  All  that  I  can  say  is  that  it  was  an  army  tra- 
dition, and  I  appeal  to  veterans  for  verification.  Hence 
the  familiar  words  that  the  boys  tacked  on  to  "the  sick 
call." 

From  the  indications  surrounding  us  we  privates 
naturally  imagined  that  we  were  going  to  have  a  long 
stay  at  Rockville  camp.  It  was  a  pretty  spot  and  we 
were  nothing  loath.  We  did  not  know  that  it  was  but 
a  temporary  halt  of  a  pursuing  army. 

General  Lee  and  the  Confederate  forces  were  march- 
ing up  into  Maryland  somewhere  ahead  of  us.  The 
commanders  of  the  Union  army  were,  it  seems,  a  little 


84  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

at  a  loss  as  to  just  what  point  Lee  was  steering  for. 
That  naturally  involved  the  route  we  were  to  take. 
There  were  several  roads  to  select  from,  but  the  ques- 
tion was  which  one  would  best  intercept  the  enemy  in 
his  northward  course.  The  enemy's  intentions  were 
therefore  an  essential  requisite. 

Such  information  was  obtained  by  scouts,  or  by  cav- 
alry reconnoisances.  To  make  these  investigations  and 
bring  back  a  non-conflicting  report,  occupied  a  day  or 
so's  time.     That  was  what  we  were  waiting  for. 

The  head  officers  knew  all  this,  of  course;  but  we 
privates  did  not.  The  rank  and  file  of  an  army  know 
no  more  about  what  they  are  doing,  why  they  stop  here 
and  go  there,  than  so  many  sheep.  We  naturally  sup- 
posed just  then  that  we  were  going  to  have  a  good  rest 
— to  "wait  till  it  got  a  little  cooler." 

In  the  light  of  history  we  know  now  that  General 
McClellan  ascertained  that  the  enemy's  objective  point 
was  the  great  strategic  position  of  Harper's  Ferry. 
Hence  McClellan  picked  out  a  route  that  converged 
with  that  of  the  enemy  so  that  the  two  armies  would 
probably  intersect  near  South  Mountain.  And  so  they 
did!     That  is  just  where  they  "intersected." 

While  at  Rockville  we  were  "brigaded."  That 
means  that  we  were  assigned  to  a  particular  section  of 
the  army.  We  were  put  in  General  Gordon's  brigade 
of  General  William's  division  of  General  Bank's  corps. 
The  other  regiments  of  our  brigade  were  the  Second 
Massachusetts,  the  Third  Wisconsin,  the  Twenty- 
seventh  Indiana,  and  the  One  Hundred  and  Seventh 
New  York.  With  the  exception  of  the  latter  and  the 
Thirteenth  Regiment,  they  were  all  veterans,  and  ranked 
with  the  best  fighting  troops  of  the  army.  Phew !  we 
didn't  relish  that  much ! 

General  Gordon,  the  brigade  commander,  was  a  West 
Point  graduate,  and  former  Colonel  of  the  Second  Mas- 
sachusetts. Colonel  Ruger,  of  the  Third  Division,  was 
also  a  West  Pointer.  He  is  now  a  major-general  in  the 
regular  army. 

About  noon  on  Tuesday,  September  9, 1862,  our  hopes 
of  a  long  rest  were  suddenly  dispelled  by  an  order  to 
fall  in  at  once  to  resume  the  march. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  85 

This  order  was  accompanied  by  instructions  that 
seemed  to  mean  business.  It  was  that  we  would  pro- 
ceed in  ' '  light  marching  order. ' '  We  were  told  to  leave 
behind  our  commodious  Sibley  tents  (which  we  never 
laid  eyes  on  again).  We  were  soon  told  to  leave  our 
knapsacks.  Most  of  those  had  been  left  by  the  way- 
side ;  but  that  was  the  order  to  be  obeyed  by  those  who 
had  stuck  to  their  "trunks." 

"What  does  this  mean?"  I  asked  one  of  the  Second 
Massachusetts  veterans. 

"It  means  a  fight!"  said  he. 


86  TEE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  BIVOUAC. 
"A   FIGHT?" 

"Yes." 

"A  battle?" 

"Yes." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"Oh,"  calmly  replied  the  Second  Massachusetts  man, 
"we  old  soldiers  know  the  signs.  When  you  have  been 
halted  a  day  or  so,  and  then  suddenly  along  comes  an 
order  to  get  up  and  git,  in  light  marching  order,  that 
generally  means  that  you  are  going  to  get  into  a 
l  scrimmage  mighty  soon,  or  somewhere  pretty  near  it." 

"How  does  a  fellow  feel  when  he  gets  into  a  battle?" 
I  asked,  nervously. 

"Are  you  scared?"  he  asked. 

"Well,  no;  not  exactly  that.  But  I  don't  feel  com- 
fortable." 

"Own  up  now,  like  a  man,  that  you're  scared." 

"Well— a  little  bit." 

To  tell  the  truth  my  teeth  were  chattering. 

"You'll  be  scared  a  darned  sight  worse,  I  reckon," 
said  the  unfeeling  bean-eater.  ' '  Scared  is  no  name  for 
it.  The  man  never  lived  that  wasn't  scared  in  a  battle. 
Put  that  down.  But  the  worst  part  of  it  is  just  before 
you  go  in — when  you're  waiting  to  go  in."  (A  soldier 
always  referred  to  entering  a  battle  as  "going  in.") 

"What  are  your  sensations  then?" 

"Pshaw,  pard,  I  couldn't  begin  to  tell  you,  except 
that  you're  scared,  awfully  scared,  and  that's  all  there 
is  about  it." 

"Were  you  ever  wounded?" 

"No;  nor  I  don't  want  to  be,  neither.  If  ever  I'm 
shot,  I  want  to  be  plunked  dead  and  be  done  with  it. 
I've    seen  enough    men  wounded  not  to  care  to  be 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  8? 

wounded  myself.  But  it's  no  use  o'  my  telling  you. 
From  the  looks  o'  things  I  guess  you'll  know  all  about 
it  yourself  before  long. ' ' 

Now  this  was  interesting  talk,  wasn't  it?  It  made 
the  patriotism  ooze  out  of  my  little  toe.  What  with  the 
marching  ]  and  the  hot  weather  and  the  horrible  pros- 
pects ahead,  I  was  rapidly  becoming  very  sorry  that  I 
had  been  such  a  fool  as  to  enlist. 

But  soldiers  are  kept  too  busy  to  have  much  time  for 
reflection,  and  activity  is  the  best  possible  antidote  for 
depression  of  spirits.  The  preparations  for  the  start 
engrossed  our  attention.  And  after  the  customary  pre- 
liminary delay  we  were  again  on  the  march.  Quite  a 
number  of  sick  and  disabled  men  were  left  behind  to 
catch  up  with  the  regiment  when  they  had  recovered. 

In  the  Union  army,  as  it  started  on  thai  Maryland 
campaign,  there  were  about  one  hundred  thousand  men. 
General  Lee's  army  contained  about  sixty  thousand 
men.  We  were  about  five  to  three  of  the  enemy.  Per- 
haps had  we  known  that  then,  we  would  have  felt  a 
little  better.     And  then  again,  perhaps  we  wouldn't ! 

The  army  moved  forward  in  three  columns — that  is, 
by  three  roads.  History  tells  us  that  the  right  wing, 
under  General  Burnside,  comprised  the  latter's  own 
corps  and  that  of  General  Hooker.  This  was  on  the 
right.  The  center  column  was  composed  of  Generals 
Sumner  and  Mansfield's  corps,  under  command  of 
Sumner.  General  Franklin's  corps  and  General 
Couch's  division  were  on  the  left,  while  General  Fitz- 
John  Porter  and  his  troops  brought  up  the  rear. 

We  know  all  this  now.  We  didn't  at  the  time.  All 
that  we  knew,  was  that  we  were  part  and  parcel  of  a 
string  of  soldiers  of  apparently  countless  numbers, 
marching  along  toward  some  fate,  we  knew  not  what. 
John  Ick  said  it  was  to  "a  slaughter  house." 

After  a  march  that  was  not  so  fatiguing  as  that  to 
Rockville,  for  the  weather  was  slightly  cooler  and  we 
were  getting  somewhat  used  to  it,  we  encamped  for  the 
night  at  a  place  called  Middlebrook.  Here  we  were 
initiated  into  the  art  of  "every  man  his  own  cook." 

I  don't  know  where  all  the  tomato  cans  came  from. 
Perhaps  they  were  discarded  relics  of  the  officers'  mess, 


88  THE  YOUNG-   VOLUNTEER. 

for  the  officers'  provisions  were  carried  in  the  baggage 
wagons  and  usually  comprised  a  greater  variety  than 
the  menu  of  the  "men."  Perhaps  it  will  not  be  gen- 
erally remembered  that  this  was  before  the  days  of 
canned  goods.  Tomatoes  and  sardines  were  about  the 
only  things  put  up  in  tin  cans  in  1862.  Fresh  vege- 
tables were  not  attainable  the  year  round,  as  they  are 
now. 

Some  of  the  boys  had  provided  themselves  with  little 
tin  pails;  I  had  not,  but  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  find 
a  tomato  can  and  a  piece  of  wire,  and  making  a  bale  of 
the  latter  I  soon  had  a  little  pail.  These  tomato  cans 
were  a  good  deal  better  than  the  "boughten"  pails,  for, 
the  tin  being  thinner,  you  could  boil  water  quicker,  and 
when  the  can  gets  too  much  smoked  and  burned  you 
could  throw  it  away  and  pick  up  another. 

Taking  some  lessons  from  the  older  soldiers,  we  pre- 
pared our  own  suppers.  For  the  edification  of  house- 
wives and  cooks  I'll  tell  you  how  we  soldiers  made 
coffee. 

Take  a  tomato-can  pail  and  fill  it  with  water  from 
the  nearest  spring  or  brook.  Take  a  handful  of  ground 
coffee  from  your  haversack  and  sprinkle  it  on  top  of  the 
water;  the  most  of  it  will  float.  Get  a  long  stick  and 
put  the  pail  on  the  end  of  it  and  hold  it  over  the  fire. 
Of  course  a  dozen  or  fifteen  other  fellows  are  scrambling 
for  the  hottest  place  in  the  fire  with  their  coffee  pails, 
and  you  must  fight  for  your  chance.  You're  lucky  if 
you  don't  get  a  plunk  in  the  nose.  After  awhile  the 
water  begins  to  boil,  and  suddenly  the  coffee  rises  to  the 
top,  in  a  creamy  sort  of  a  chocolate  color.  Then  quickly 
dash  from  your  canteen  a  squirt  or  so  of  cold  water. 
Instantly  the  grounds  will  settle  to  the  bottom  and  your 
coffee  will  be  quite  clear.  As  the  orthodox  recipes  say, 
"serve  hot." 

That  is  the  way  army  coffee  is  made  and  it  isn't  bad 
either.  At  least  it  is  as  good  as  coffee  can  be  without 
cream.  We  had  sugar  and  "sweetened  to  taste,"  and 
generally  drank  right  out  of  the  tin  pail,  for  cups  were 
a  useless  bother. 

With  a  bit  of  fat  pork  toasted  in  the  fire  on  the  end 
of  a  stick,  and  the  hard-tack  somewhat  softened  by 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  89 

soaking  in  the  coffee,  it  made  a  tolerably  fair  meal. 
And  this  was  the  average  meal  of  the  Union  soldier  on 
the  march  throughout  the  war.  Somehow  we  got  a 
knack  of  cracking  the  hard-tack  with  our  teeth  and  they 
by  no  means  seemed  as  hard  as  at  first.  A  hard-tack  is 
similar  to  the  Hebrew  unleavened  bread  of  Passover 
times.  In  fact  it  is  practically  the  same.  No  salt  is 
used  in  its  manufacture,  and  if  kept  dry  it  will  last  for 
years.  Hence  that  brand  of  "B.  C."  wouldn't  be  so 
inappropriate  after  all. 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  there  could  be  no  more 
picturesque  sight  than  an  army  of  soldiers  in  bivouac 
after  a  day's  march.  When  the  order  came  to  halt, 
which  was  generally  in  the  vicinity  of  some  body  of 
fresh  water,  say  a  brook  or  a  spring  or  lake,  there 
would  be  a  general  scramble  for  fuel.  The  choicest 
fuel  of  all  was  a  rail  fence.  Then  the  dry  twigs  that 
lay  around  under  the  trees.  Then  the  trees  themselves. 
Then  the  boards  and  shingles  from  every  old  house  and 
barn  in  sight. 

An  enormous  flock  of  Nebraska  grasshoppers  could 
not  create  such  sudden  devastation.  In  five  minutes 
not  a  vestige  of  a  rail  fence  could  be  seen.  A  pretty 
strong  guard  was  the  only  way  of  preventing  the  im- 
mediate demolishing  of  a  building.  In  three  days' 
time,  should  the  army  stop,  nothing  but  stumps  could 
be  seen  where  there  had  stood  a  vast  forest.  In  a 
friendly  section  certain  restrictions  were  placed  on  the 
troops.  In  an  enemy's  country,  unlimited  license  to 
destroy  was  the  unwritten  law. 

There  were  generally  one  or  two  camp  fires  to  a  com- 
pany, besides  additional  ones  for  the  officers,  and  at  the 
respective  headquarters.  In  the  one  hundred  thousand 
troops  encamped  that  night  there  were  perhaps  two 
thousand  or  two  thousand  five  hundred  campfires. 
The  encamping  army  covered  ground  twelve  or  sixteen 
miles  square. 

Just  imagine  a  grand  concourse  of  soldiers  scattered 
over  a  tract  of  land  ten  or  fifteen  miles  square.  Scatter 
among  these  two  or  three  thousand  bonfires,  each  one 
producing  a  big  volume  of  smoke.  Around  each  fire  a 
crowd  of  men,  cooking  their  suppers,  smoking  their 


90  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

pipes,  singing  and  laughing.  Add  the  indescribable 
braying  of  the  mules,  a  fife  and  drum  here,  a  bugle 
there  and  occasionally  a  brass  band  (there  weren't  many 
of  them)  playing.  Imagine  all  this,  and  you'll  have  a 
vague  sort  of  an  idea  of  the  army  as  it  stopped  that 
night  at  Middlebrook,  Maryland. 

And  the  songs  the  soldiers  used  to  sing!  It  mattered 
not  how  little  one  knew  how  to  sing,  he  was  expected  to 
join  in  the  chorus.  When  on  the  march,  and  not  too 
tired,  the  whole  army  would  suddenty  break  out  with 
that  famous  old  song  to  the  tune  of  "John's  Brown's 
body:" 

"  We'll  hang  Jeff  Davis  on  a  sour  apple  tree, 
We'll  hang  Jeff  Davis  on  a  sour  apple  tree, 
We'll  hang  Jeff  Davis  on  a  sour  apple  tree, 
While  his  soul  goes  marching  on." 

When  sitting  around  the  campfire  a  different  class 
of  songs  were  sung,  such  as  "Dixie" : 

"  I  wish  I  was  in  de  land  of  cotton 
Cinnamon  seed  and  sandy  bottom 
Look  away,  look  away,  look  away  to  Dixie  land." 

Or  another  to  which  an  additional  verse  was  added 
for  each  year  the  war  continued,  which  ran : 

"  In  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-one 

Free-ball!     Free-ball! 
In  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-one 

Free-ball!     Free-ball! 
In  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-one 
The  war  had  then  but  just  begun 
And  we'll  all  drink  stone  blind, 
Johnny,  fill  up  the  bowl. " 

The  latter  verse  will  no  doubt  cause  a  smile  to  appear 
on  the  lips  of  all  soldiers  who  see  it,  for  it  will  involun- 
tarity  recall  to  their  mind  the  text  of  some  of  the  others, 
which  would  hardly  look  well  in  print ! 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  §1 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  GREEN  PICKET. 

In  the  previous  chapter  I  told  how  the  bojTs  were  sit- 
ting around  the  Middlebrook  camp  fires,  smoking  and 
singing.  But  "there  were  others,"  as  the  saying  goes, 
and  these  were  on  picket  duty.  Every  night,  whether 
in  camp  or  on  the  march,  a  certain  number  of  men  are 
detailed  to  do  picket  duty.  They  are  to  watch  that  the 
enemy  doesn't  get  in,  and  that  the  soldiers  don't  get  out. 

One  of  Company  K's  picket  detail  was  the  irrepressi- 
ble John  Ick.  The  officer  of  the  guard  had  a  hard  time 
instructing  John  Ick  in  the  duties  of  a  sentry.  John's 
post,  by  the  way,  was  under  a  tree  at  the  edge  of  a 
wood.  It  is  perhaps  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  there 
wasn't  a  "Johnny  Reb"  within  thirty  or  forty  miles. 
But  John  took  the  assignment  with  great  dignity,  with 
as  much  apparent  determination  to  do  his  duty  as  if  the 
woods  swarmed  with  the  soldiers  of  the  enemy. 

"Now  you  must  be  very  careful,"  said  Lieutenant 
Scott,  the  officer  of  the  guard.  "You  must  not  let  any 
one  pass  without  the  countersign." 

"Vot  vas  the  goundersign,  Mr.  Scott?"  asked  Ick. 

"It  is  a  word  that  must  be  whispered 'in  your  ear  like 
this — '  Brandy  wine. '     That' s  the  countersign. ' ' 

"Brandywine.  Oh,  yes,  I'll  remember  dot;  dat  is 
something  to  trink,  like  lager  beer.  I'll  just  think  by 
ein  glass  lager  beer,  and  don't  forget  dot  what  you  call 
him — dot  gountersign." 

Lieutenant  Scott  instructed  Ick  in  the  modus  oper- 
andi of  treating  approaching  friend  or  foe  during  the 
night,  and  particularly  enjoined  upon  him  not  to  let  his 
gun  pass  out  of  his  hands,  no  matter  who  it  might  be. 
Nor  must  he  let  any  one  pass  without  the  countersign. 


93  THE  TOUNa   VOLUNTEER. 

"Not  even  der  captain?"  asked  Ick. 

"No,  not  even  the  captain." 

"Nobotty?" 

1 '  Nobody  whatever. ' ' 

"Now  I  onderstand,  dot's  all  ri-et,"  said  John. 
"Iffer  everybotty  comes  by  here  vot  don't  des  gounter- 
sign  have,  I  shoot  'em,  eh?" 

Later  in  the  night  Lieutenant  Scott  suggested  to  Cap- 
tain Irish  that  he  test  John  Ick  while  he  was  on  his 
post.     He  did  so. 

"Who  comes  there,  alretty?"  demanded  Ick.  This 
was  the  correct  salutation,  for  a  wonder,  except  for  the 
"alretty." 

"It's  I — Captain  Irish,"  was  the  reply. 

"Oh,  dot's  all  ri-et.  How  you  was,  captain?  It  was 
a  nice  night,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes,  a  very  nice  night.  But  say,  John,  you  are  not 
holding  your  gun  right.     Let  me  show  you." 

Ick  handed  the  captain  his  rifle. 

"You  must  hold  it  this  way,"  said  the  captain,  bring- 
ing it  to  a  "charge  bayonet"  and  touching  John  with 
the  point  of  it  against  his  stomach. 

"Don't  do  dot  captain;  by  gimminey,  you  almost 
stick  it  through  me  alretty." 

"Now  look  here,  John,"  said  the  captain  severely, 
"supposing  I  wasn't  Captain  Irish.  Suppose  I  was  a 
rebel." 

"But  you  vasn't  no  reppel,  I  know'd  you  was  Cap- 
tain Irish." 

"Yes,  but  suppose  it  was  so  dark  you  couldn't  see 
me,  or  suppose  it  was  General  McClellan?" 

"Dot  would  be  all  riet,  not?" 

"But  suppose  it  was  some  one  else  who  passed  him- 
self off  under  a  false  name,  and  after  getting  your  gun, 
killed  you?" 

"Mine  Gott !     I  dont't  think  py  dot. " 

"Now,  John,"  said  the  captain,  kindly,  "I  only  did 
this  to  try  you.  Let  it  be  a  lesson.  Never  let  your  gun 
out  of  your  hands  while  on  picket,  not  even  if  it  is  the 
President  of  the  United  States." 

"By  gimminey,  I  don'd  give  dot  gun  to  Kaiser  Wil- 
helm  if  he  comes  any  more." 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  93 

John  Ick  evidently  understood  this  part  of  the  busi- 
ness now.  And  let  me  say  right  here  that  that  identical 
test  was  tried  on  every  new  recruit  in  the  army,  and  in 
five  cases  out  of  ten  with  a  similar  result. 

About  an  hour  afterward  the  "grand  rounds"  came 
along.  The  "grand  rounds"  was  a  regular  nocturnal 
visit,  usually  about  midnight,  to  test  the  vigilance  of 
the  picket  lines.  Some  high  officer,  but  more  generally 
the  officer  of  the  day,  accompanied  by  a  small  body 
guard,  performed  it.  As  they  approached  John  Ick 
they  were  met  with  the  regulation  salutation : 

""Who  comes  there?" 

"The  grand  rounds." 

"The  grand  rounds,"  answered  Ick,  "I  don' d  know 
vat  dot  grand  rounds  vas,  but  you  don'd  fool  me  any 
more  alretty  like  dot  Captain  Irish.  I  vas  holdiug  dot 
gun  all  ri-et,  and  don'd  you  forget  it." 

"What  nonsense  is  this?"  asked  the  grand  officer, 
stepping  forward. 

"No  you  don'd  do  dot,"  exclaimed  Ick.  "You  don'd 
got  my  gun  some  more,  and  3-ou  don'd  go!;  py  here  ober 
you  don'd  say  dot  gountersign.     Say  lager  beer!" 

"What?"  exclaimed  the  astonished  officer. 

"Say  lager  beer." 

"What  is  lager  beer?  What  do  you  mean  by  that, 
you  stupid  blockhead?"  demanded  the  officer. 

"Dot  vas  de  gountersign  alretty.  You  dond  pass  by 
ober  you  dond  say  lager  beer." 

"Who  told  you  the  countersign  was  lager  beer?" 

"Mister  Scott." 

"Who  is  Mister  Scott?" 

"Vy,  don't  you  know  him?  Dot  vas  Jim,  der  luff- 
tennant  by  Company  K. " 

"Did  he  tell  you  the  countersign  was  lager  beer?" 

"Yah." 

"Didn't  he  say  Brandywine?" 

"Brandywine?  Oh,  ya!  Dot  vas  it.  I  forgot  him 
alretty.  I  know'd  it  vas  something  to  drink,  and  I 
thought  it  was  lager  boer,  py  gimminey.  You  shust 
say  Brandywine.     Dat's  all  ri-et!" 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  the  service?"  asked 
the  officer. 


94'  TEE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

\  "Vot  service?" 

"The  army.     How  long  have  you  been  a  soldier?" 

"Oh,  about  six  week,  alretty." 

"Been  on  picket  before?" 

"Nein.     Dot  vos  de  first  times." 

"I  thought  so,"  said  the  grand  officer.  And  then  he 
proceeded  to  explain  that  he  must  never  give  away  the 
countersign ;  that  it  must  come  from  the  person  who 
wanted  to  get  past,  and  not  from  the  soldier  on  guard. 
Although  outwardly  severe,  the  officersmade  all  allow- 
ances for  such  green  recruits.  It  was  the  way  they  in- 
structed them  in  their  duties.  And  it  made  a  more 
lasting  lesson  than  any  amount  of  school  class  tuition. 
John  Ick  learned  his  lesson  well,  and  was  proven  to  be 
a  faithful  picket  on  many  a  subsequent  occasion. 

The  incidents  just  related  were  duplicated  in  a  thou- 
sand instances.  The  men,  taken  from  all  phases  of  life, 
were  utterl}r  ignorant  of  military  duty.  There  was  not 
time  to  put  them  through  a  regular  graduated  course  of 
instruction,  and  they  were  taught  in  this  eminently 
practical  way. 

The  next  morning,  September  10th,  the  Thirteenth, 
with  its  brigade  companies,  marched  off  on  a  line  about 
parallel  to  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  railroad.  The  dis- 
tance covered  on  that  day  and  the  next  was  short,  and 
the  marches  were  comparatively  easy. 

Excitement  began  to  be  manifested,  however,  from 
the  fact  that  we  began  to  see  evidences  that  the  enemy 
had  passed  along  that  way  not  many  days  previous. 
There  were  signs  of  camps  from  the  ashes  where  there 
had  been  fires.  The  rail  fences  had  disappeared.  In 
fact  the  trail  of  the  military  serpent  was  everywhere 
visible. 

It  was  evident  to  all  that  we  were  getting  into  close 
quarters.  There  were  frequent  consultations  among  the 
officers,  and  an  increase  in  their  earnestness  and  in  the 
severity  of  their  orders.  A  peculiar  atmosphere  of  im- 
pending disaster  surrounded  us  that  was  indescribable. 
That  sensation  is  a  familiar  one  to  old  soldiers,  but  it 
was  our  first  experience  and  there  was  an  uncanny 
weirdness  about  it  that  was  not  at  all  pleasant. 

We  were  not  quite  so  close  upon  the  enemy,  however, 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  95 

as  we  private  soldiers  imagined,  although,  as  it  subse- 
quently transpired,  a  couple  of  days  more  marching 
would  bring  us  in  sight  of  the  ''Johnnies." 

On  the  12th  of  September  we  suddenly  came  to  quite 
a  good  sized  stream.  We  were  told  it  was  the  Monoc- 
acy  River. 

There  were  no  bridges  nor  boats ;  but  an  army  doesn't 
stop  for  a  little  thing  like  that.  We  were  simply  and 
coolly  ordered  to  "cross  the  river,"  and  so  we  did. 

Did  you  ever  "ford  a  river"? 


96  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A   FREDERICK   CITY   GIRL. 

We  were  ordered  to  ford  the  river. 

The  Monocacy  River  isn't  a  very  formidable  stream 
nor  is  it  in  the  summer  season  very  deep.  On  this  oc- 
casion it  came  up  about  to  the  waist  at  the  place  picked 
out  as  a  "ford,"  although  it  was  deeper  above  and 
below.  But  it  was  our  first  experience  at  fording  a 
stream,  and  consequently  accompanied  with  much 
interest. 

The  irrepressible  and  original  John  Ick  wanted  to 
take  off  his  clothes  and  cross  in  a  state  of  nature ;  but 
to  his  infinite  disgust  that  would  not  be  permitted,  as 
such  an  operation  would  take  too  much  time. 

The  government  does  not  object,  when  soldiers  are 
marching,  to  their  discarding  any  superfluous  weight  in 
the  shape  of  clothing  or  eatables.  But  when  it  comes 
to  those  things  that  absolutely  pertain  to  war  the  case  is 
different.  One  can't  throw  away  guns  or  ammunition, 
no  matter  how  heavy  such  things  may  be — and  they 
were  heavy  enough.  On  all  occasions  the  greatest  care 
must  be  taken  to  keep  the  rifle  in  good  order  and  the 
cartridges  dry. 

In  fording  a  river  the  cartridge  and  percussion -cap 
boxes  and  belts  were  unstrapped  and  fastened  at  the 
bayonet  end  of  the  guns.  By  carrying  the  rifles  on  the 
shoulder  the  ammunition  was  kept  above  the  water  and 
dry.  No  matter  if  the  contents  of  the  haversack  were 
ruined.  No  matter  if  the  blankets  and  other  wearing 
apparel  were  saturated.  The  government  cared  naught 
for  that,  so  long  as  the  ammunition  was  intact. 

Even  in  the  summer  season  it  is  not  pleasant  to  cross 
a  stream  containing  two  or  three  or  four  feet  of  water 
in  one's  clothes.  In  the  winter  time,  as  many  of  us 
learned  afterward,  it  is  accompanied  with  little  short  of 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  97 

torture.     Id  warm  weather  it  is  simply  a  question  of 
discomfort. 

Several  pounds  of  weight  seem  to  be  added  to  the  sol- 
dier's load.  The  clothing,  uncomfortable  at  the  best  of 
times,  sticks  closer  than  a  brother,  and  clings  and  pulls 
one's  legs  with  a  force  almost  inconceivable.  The  wet 
stockings  flop  about  in  the  coarse  aloes  with  a  "ker- 
sock,"  "ker-sock"  that  sounds  like  a  suction  pump,  and 
materially  assists  in  the  development  of  additional 
painful  blisters. 

As  each  man  emerges  on  the  other  side  of  the  stream, 
he  sheds  his  quota  of  water,  until  the  ground  grows 
soggy  and  soft  and  the  mud  deeper  and  deeper  until  it 
is  soon,  not  only  ankle-deep,  but  knee-deep.  With  one's 
wet  clothes  increasing  the  weight,  the  climb  through 
the  sticky  mud  up  the  embankment  of  tho  stream  was  a 
tiresome  task.  It  was  also  a  tedious  affair,  for  there  is 
always  considerable  delay  in  fording  a  river  or  creek, 
and  then  comes  that  inevitable,  wearisome  scamper  to 
catch  up  with  those  who  have  gone  ahead. 

A  funny  thing  it  was  to  see  the  ammunition  mules. 
Each  one  of  these  stubborn  but  interesting  animals  had 
two  large  boxes  of  cartridges  slung  over  his  back,  one 
on  each  side.  The  boxes  just  cleared  the  water,  if 
everything  was  all  right.  But  a  mule  doesn't  like 
swiftly  running  water  between  his  legs.  It  makes  him 
discouraged.  And  when  you  discourage  a  mule  his 
usefulness  immediately  departs.  A  discouraged  mule 
invariably  gives  up  and  lies  down,  no  matter  where  he 
may  be. 

The  mules  had  no  respect  for  the  strict  orders  about 
keeping  the  cartridges  dry.  One  of  them  lay  down  in 
the  water,  rolled  over,  and  shed  his  load.  The  other 
mules  saw  this,  and  at  once  caught  on  to  the  scheme. 
The  practice  became  epidemic.  Mule  after  mule  lay 
down  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  tumbled  off  his  two 
heavy  cases  of  cartridges,  righted  himself  again  and 
scrambled  up  the  muddy  bank  with  an  expression  of 
countenance  that  failed  to  indicate  the  least  compunc- 
tion of  conscience.  Those  mules  must  have  been  in 
league  with  the  enemy,  for  I  heard  one  of  the  officers 
say  that  they  had  dumped  enough  cartridges   in  the 


98  THE   YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

Monocacy  River  that  day  to  fight  a  good  sized  battle. 
Every  cartridge  that  got  wet  was  ruined,  of  course,  for 
the  powder  covering  was  only  paper. 

Fortunately  for  us  we  did  not  march  very  far  after 
fording  the  river,  and  when  we  got  into  camp  all  the 
new  soldiers  took  off  their  wet  trousers  and  stockings 
and  hung  them  on  the  bushes  to  dry.  As  we  cooked 
our  supper  that  night  we  resembled  the  bouffe  soldiers 
in  a  German  opera. 

Johnny  Neild  came  near  getting  into  a  fight  with 
Reddy  Mahar  by  remarking  on  the  cleanliDess  of  his 
pedal  extremities. 

"I  believe  that  is  the  first  time  you  ever  had  your 
feet  washed  in  your  life,"  said  Neild. 

"You're  a  liar!"  returned  Reddy. 

Neild  was  going  to  take  it  up;  butJHank  Van  Orden 
stepped  between  them  and  prevented  a  continuation  of 
hostilities. 

On  the  next  day  we  reached  Frederick  city,  and  we 
found  that  we  were  getting  closer  upon  the  enemy  than 
we  imagined,  that  is,  closer  than  we  privates  imagined. 
I  suppose  the  officers  knew  all  about  it  all  along.  The 
rebels  had  passed  through  Frederick  only  the  day  be- 
fore. Indeed  it  is  said  that  some  of  their  rear  guards 
were  found  in  the  city  still  when  our  advance  guard 
reached  the  place,  and  that  a  few  shots  were  fired.  I 
didn't  hear  anything  of  that  sort,  however,  or  perhaps  I 
wouldn't  have  been  so  unconcerned. 

My  remembrance  of  Frederick  city  is  a  very  pleasant 
one.  The  place  consisted  in  that  day,  essentially,  of 
one  large  street.  I  remember  being  struck  particularly 
with  a  wonder  as  to  what  the  people  did  for  a  living. 
Outside  of  the  stores,  there  seemed  to  be  no  business. 
Brought  up  within  the  sound  of  the  hum  of  the  busy 
mills  of  Paterson,  it  struck  me  that  there  ought  to  be 
some  factories  or  other  evidence  of  industry.  But  Frede- 
rick was  a  "market  town"  only,  which  was  something 
that  in  those  days  I  did  not  understand. 

Frederick  is  the  city  made  famous  by  the  poet  in  the 
beautiful  poem  about  "Barbara  Fritchie. "  To  be  sure 
later  historians  have  said  that  there  never  was  a  Bar- 
bara Fritchie  in  Frederick,  and  that  the  flag  incident 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  99 

was  a  pure  romance.  But  that  makes  no  difference ; 
the  story  of  Barbara  Fritchie  will  always  remain  asso- 
ciated with  Frederick  city. 

And  by  the  way  they  say  that  "Sheridan's  Ride" 
was  a  fake,  and  lots  of  other  things  are  false,  including 
tho  "Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade,"  the  flood  and  the 
ark,  and  Adam  and  Eve  in  the  Garden  of  Eden.  But 
we're  here  anyway,  and  we  must  have  had  ancestors, 
and  who  can  dispute  that  there  was  an  Adam  and  an  Eve? 
I  frown  upon  such,  despicable  attempts  to  disprove  facts 
by  new  theories.  If  it  keeps  on  that  way,  some  busy- 
body will  even  throw  out  a  suspicion  that  there  are 
romances  in  this  war  story.  So  on  general  principles  I 
stand  up  for  all  the  interesting  old  traditions,  including 
Barbara  Fritchie! 

The  alleged  incident  of  Barbara  and  the  flag  occurred 
the  day  before  we  reached  Frederick,  so  that  we  didn't 
see  it  ourselves.  But  we  saw  the  house  from  the  upper 
window  of  which  she  defiantly  flaunted  the  stars  and 
stripes.  At  least  I  saw  every  house  in  Frederick,  and 
so  can  truthfully  testify  that  I  saw  the  Fritchie  place  of 
residence. 

I  don't  know  how  the  citizens  of  Frederick  treated 
the  rebel  army  the  day  before,  but  I  do  know  that  they 
treated  us  "bang  up."  I  went  into  a  store  and  bought 
a  pipe  and  some  tobacco,  and  the  proprietor  wouldn't 
take  a  cent.  The  fact  leaking  out  that  cigar  dealer's 
stock  was  soon  completely  disposed  of  on  the  same 
terms.  The  bakers  gave  us  bread  and  cake.  The  citi- 
zens gave  us  pies  and  other  luxuries,  and  prett}^  Mary- 
laud  girls  stood  in  their  doorways  with  pitchers  of  milk. 
There  could  be  no  discounting  the  fact  of  the  hospi- 
tality of  the  people  of  Frederick  city.  They  knew  the 
Union  army  was  coming  close  behind  the  rebels,  and 
had  made  considerable  preparation  for  us.  The  women 
of  Frederick  served  us  with  sandwiches,  cakes,  pies, 
roasted  chickens,  hams,  and  what  not. 

During  a  temporary  halt  in  the  main  street  of  the 
little  city  the  boys  were  strung  along  the  sidewalks,  in 
front  of  the  stores  and  residences,  partaking  of  a  lunch 
that  was  to  us  a  regular  feast.  It  was  my  good  fortune 
to  be  served  by  a  very  pretty  girl  of  about  seventeen  or 


100  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

eighteen  years.  As  I  stood  there,  leaning  against  the 
fence  of  the  little  door-yard  in  front  of  the  cottage,  with 
a  chicken  wing  in  one  hand  and  a  glass  of  milk  in  the 
other,  I  ventured  into  a  little  conversation  with  my  fair 
entertainer. 

"Did  you  do  this  for  the  other  fellows?"  I  asked, 
feeling  my  ground. 

"You  mean  the  rebels,  I  suppose,"  said  she. 

"Yes;  I  didn't  say  'rebel,'  because  I  didn't  know  how 
you  would  take  it." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  she  reassuringly.  "That's 
what  I  call  them,  anyhow.  No,  we  didn't,  as  a  general 
thing,  treat  'the  other  fellows,'  as  you  call  them,  in  this 
way.  Some  of  the  people  did,  but  not  many.  You  see 
the  most  of  us  are  Union  folks.  Then  again,  when  the 
rebels  passed  through  they  seemed  to  be  in  a  big  hurry. 
Most  of  the  houses  and  nearly  all  the  stores  were  closed 
up,  till  it  looked  like  Sunday.  We  had  been  told  that 
they  were  going  to  clean  out  all  the  stores  and  then  set 
fire  to  the  town.  We  were  much  frightened,  I  can 
assure  you,  and  we  didn't  feel  safe  until  we  began  to  see 
the  blue-coated  soldiers." 

"So  you're  a  Union  girl,"  I  remarked. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  replied.  "And  I  have  a  brother  in 
the  Third  Maryland " 

"The  Third  Maryland,"  I  interrupted,  "why  I  be- 
lieve that  regiment  is  in  our  division — General  Wil- 
liams'?" 

"Yes;  that's  the  name,"  she  replied.  "Fred  wrote 
me  that  General  Williams  was  his  commander.  Per- 
haps you  may  meet  Fred. ' ' 

"Very  likely,"  I  answered.  "But  what  is  his  last 
name?" 

"Summers." 

"Fred  Summers.  And  what  name  shall  I  use  when 
I  say  I  saw  his  sister?" 

"Mabel"  (with  a  slight  blush). 

"Is  your  brother  older  than  you  are?" 

"No." 

"What,  younger?     He  must  be  a  mere  boy." 

"He  is  neither  older  nor  younger,"  was  her  answer, 
and  she  blushed  again  as  she  said:  "We  are  twins — 
twin  brother  and  sister." 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  101 

"That's  nice,"  said  I.  "And — and  if  he  is  anything 
like  his  twin  sister,  Fred  must  be  a  handsome  fellow." 

I  was  getting  along  pretty  well  considering  I  hadn't 
known  the  girl  five  minutes.  But  I  couldn't  help  it.  I 
really  meant  it,  you  know.  I  never  saw  a  girl  blush  so 
easily  as  Mabel  Summers  did.  My  last  remarks  suf- 
fused her  face  with  carnation.  Now  I  come  to  recall  it, 
I  don't  wonder. 

"Have  you  any  correspondent  in  the  army?"  I  ven- 
tured. 

"Oh,  yes;  my  brother." 

"Any  one  else?" 

"Oh,  no." 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  one?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  think  I  would  make  a  good  correspondent." 

Another  blush  on  the  part  of  Mabel. 

"I — I  hardly  think  it  would  be  proper.  And,"  with 
a  little  show  of  pretty  petulance,  "I  think  your  sugges- 
tion is  a  little  bold,  not  to  say  somewhat  impudent." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mabel — I  mean  Miss  Summers 
— but  you  know  that  soldiers  must  be  bold,  not  to  say 
impudent. ' ' 

This  play  on  her  words  made  her  smile,  and  she 
asked  me  my  name. 

"Joe,"  I  replied. 

I  don't  know  how  much  further  the  promising  flirta- 
tion would  have  gone  had  it  not  just  at  this  point  been 
interrupted  by  a  sergeant,  accompanied  by  a  file  of  men. 
The  non-commissioned  officers  asked  me  what  I  was 
doing  there? 

"Eating  and  talking  and  having  a  good  time,"  said  I. 

"What  regiment  do  you  belong  to?"  asked  the  ser- 
geant. 

"Thirteenth  New  Jersey." 

"What  corps?" 

I  told  him. 

"Don't  you  know,"  he  asked,  "that  your  command 
started  off  some  time  ago?  Take  him  in  charge,  men" 
(turning  to  his  companions). 

"Who  are  you?"  I  asked  indignantly, 

"The  provost  guard," 


102  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

That  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  heard  of  such  a 
think  as  the  "provost  guard,"  but  I  considered  that  it 
was  advisable  to  go  along  without  making  any  fuss.  I 
was  greatly  surprised  to  learn  that  my  regiment  had 
already  started  off. 

I  turned  to  bid  farewell  to  the  pretty  little  Frederick 
city  girl.     A  spirit  of  mischief  seized  me,  and  I  said : 

"Good-by,  Mabel." 

Mabel's  blush  was  on  schedule  time,  as  usual,  but 
that  did  not  prevent  her  taking  up  the  implied  chal- 
lenge, for  she  coquettish^  answered : 

"Good-by,  Joe." 

That  was  the  first  and  last  time  I  ever  saw  Mabel 
Summers.  The  reader  may  perhaps  think  we  were  both 
a  little  "fresh"  to  indulge  in  such  familiarity  on  such 
short  acquaintance;  br.t  the  present  generation  does 
not  understand  the  feeling  that  prevailed  at  that  time 
toward  the  soldier  boys.  The  blue  uniform  of  Uncle 
Sam's  service  was  an  open  sesame.  No  one  wearing  it 
needed  an  introduction  to  anybody.  The  girls  seemed 
to  regard  every  soldier  as  a  hero.  Perhaps  it  is  better 
for  the  reputation  of  some  of  us  that  they  were  never 
undeceived. 

I  have  often  wondered  what  became  of  Mabel  Sum- 
mers. Is  she  living  yet?  Perhaps,  and  possibly  a 
grandmother. 

But  I  forgot  that  I  was  in  the  hands  of  the  provost 
guard — a  prisoner! 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  103 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  PROVOST  GUARD. 

Let  me  introduce  the  reader  to  the  "provost  guard." 

The  provost  guard  was  what  might  be  called  the 
police  force  of  the  army.  Their  duty  was  to  look  after 
the  recreant  soldiers,  stragglers,  camp  followers,  hang- 
ers-on, and  the  like. 

People  unacquainted  with  war  often  ask  how  it  was 
that  there  were  not  more  desertions.  How  was  it  that 
the  men,  suffering  from  the  fatigue  of  the  march,  the 
hardships  and  exposures  of  the  camp  and  the  awful 
horror  of  the  battle,  did  not  escape  through  the  pickets 
and  run  through  the  guard  lines  and — go  home? 

It  was  the  provost  guard  that  prevented  all  this. 

Imagine  a  man  in  a  battle.  What  is  there  between 
him  and  liberty?  Behind  him  are  first,  the  non-com- 
missioned officers,  then  the  commissioned  officers; 
then  the  "turkey  buzzards."  This  consisted  of  a  line 
of  cavalry,  generally  armed  with  long  spears,  on  the 
end  of  which  were  strips  of  red  flannel,  the  latter  curi- 
ous insignia  giving  them  the  singularly  appropriate 
title  of  "turkey  buzzards."  You  couldn't  get  past  this 
line  without  a  written  pass,  or  a  show  of  blood  issuing 
from  a  wound.     So  much  for  a  battle. 

At  other  times,  and  practically  in  fact  at  all  times, 
there  were  regimental  and  corps  guards  and  outside 
these  the  army  pickets.  Suppose  you  escaped  through 
all  these?  Everywhere  you  went,  through  every  city  of 
the  land,  you  would  meet  with  soldiers  of  the  provost 
guard,  who  would  arrest  you  if  you  couldn't  show 
written  authority  for  being  absent  from  your  regiment. 

There  were  provost  guards  even  in  Paterson,  where  I 
lived,  perhaps  in  uniform,  maybe  not,  and  more  than 


104  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

one  deserter  was  arrested  there  and  sent  back.  If  a  man 
hadn't  a  written  pass  he  was  considered  a  deserter.  I 
might  mention  the  names  of  several  now  prominent 
Patersonians  in  this  connection,  but  will  not.  There 
would  doubtless  have  been  more  if  they  could  have 
similarly  succeeded  in  getting  "through  the  lines." 

Up  in  the  mountains  not  many  miles  from  many  cities 
there  were  huts  and  caves  that  were  utilized  by  deserters 
for  months  in  the  latter  part  of  the  war.  These  desert- 
ers were  where  the  provost  guard  could  not  find  them, 
and  they  were  consequently  safe.  They  came  sneaking 
back  to  town  in  the  night  when  the  war  was  over. 

Not  many  deserters  suffered  the  penalty  prescribed 
for  that  offense — being  shot.  President  Lincoln  was 
very  tender-hearted  in  this  respect.  Scores — I  might 
perhaps  safely  say  hundreds — of  deserters  who  had  been 
sentenced  to  death  were  pardoned  or  had  their  sentence 
commuted  by  the  kind -hearted  president.  In  all  my 
experience  I  saw  only  two  men  shot  for  desertion.  That 
terrible  sight  I  will  describe  before  long. 

The  worst  penalty  suffered  by  a  deserter  was  what 
might  be  called  the  social  ostracism  to  which  he  was  sub- 
jected on  his  return  to  his  regiment.  He  was  ignored, 
disrespected,  and  treated  with  contempt  generally  in  a 
way  that  was  unbearable.  No  one  sympathized  with 
him  in  sickness  or  trouble,  he  was  put  to  the  hardest 
duties  and  most  menial  work,  and  his  life  was  made 
•such  that  the  poor  victim  often  prayed  for  death.  I 
heard  of  two  men  committing  suicide  because  they  could 
not  stand  this  treatment  from  their  companions  when 
they  had  returned  to  the  regiment  after  deserting.  It 
is  a  singular  fact  that  some  of  the  men  who  wanted  to 
— or  even  tried  to — desert  were  the  most  severe  in  their 
treatment  of  the  ones  who  had  succeeded — and  been 
caught. 

If  I  deserted  I  would  a  thousand  times  rather  be  shot 
than  go  back  to  the  regiment. 

The  offense  for  which  I  had  been  arrested  by  the  pro- 
vost guard  was  technically  called  "straggling."  Any 
man  who  fell  out  of  the  ranks  or  otherwise  got  behind 
his  regiment  while  on  a  march,  unless  taken  sick  or 
wounded,  was  called  a  straggler.     It  was  the  most  com- 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  105 

mon  of  all  army  offenses.  It  was  considered  the  least 
serious.  The  punishment  was  scarcely  ever  anything 
worse  than  being  conducted  back  to  your  regimental 
headquarters,  and  perhaps  receiving  a  mild  reprimand 
from  the  colonel  or  captain. 

I  did  not  know  this  then,  however,  and  felt  somewhat 
nervous  as  1  was  waiting  my  turn  to  be  disposed  of  at 
the  headquarters  of  the  provost  guard  when  the  army 
halted  that  night.  I  began  to  think  that  thirteen  was 
an  unlucky  number  for  me.  I  had  enlisted  in  the  Thir- 
teenth Begiment  and  here  I  was  arrested  on  the  13th  of 
September.  What  had  I  done?  Had  I  deserted? 
Would  I  be  shot? 

A  comical  incident  interrupted  my  reverie.  I  was  in 
the  midst  of  some  old  soldiers.  The  officers  were  almost 
as  dirty  as  the  men  in  appearance.  Most  of  them  were 
in  their  undress  uniforms  and  few  of  them  wore  shoulder 
straps  or  other  insignia  of  office.  A  man  in  a  dark  suit, 
which  was  presumably  originally  black,  was  leaning 
against  a  tree,  smoking  a  briarwood  pipe. 

A  tall,  gawky-looking  fellow  of  gigantic  build,  being 
over  six  feet  high  and  heavy  in  proportion,  with  long, 
bushy,  sandy  whiskers,  stalked  up.  Some  of  the  men 
saluted  and  addressed  him  as  "colonel,"  although  he 
wore  no  sign  of  a  silver  eagle,  the  insignia  of  that 
office.  The  slouchy-looking  man  smoking  the  pipe  did 
not  salute  and  this  seemingly  attracted  the  attention  of 
the  other. 

The  colonel,  for  such  he  was,  addressed  the  smoker, 
and  asked  him  gruffly: 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Smoking,"  was  the  laconic  reply,  and  not  very 
civilly  at  that. 

"Who  the  devil  are  you,  anyhow?"  asked  the  colonel. 

"I  am  the  chaplain  of  the  — th  Ohio,"  replied  he. 
"Now  who  in  h 1  are  you?" 

Such  language  from  a  chaplain  collapsed  the  colonel 
and  every  one  else  who  stood  around.  The  colonel 
looked  at  the  chaplain  a  moment  and  said  : 

"Good  for  you,  chaplain;  I've  got  some  good 'com- 
missary' in  my  tent.     Come  along  and  sample  it." 

The  colonel  and  chaplain  walked  off  arm  and  arm  to- 


106  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

gether  as  sociably  as  if  they  had  known  each  other  for 
years. 

For  the  edification  of  the  reader  I  will  explain  that 
"commissary"  was  the  whisky  furnished  by  the  gov- 
ernment to  the  army  for  medical  purposes.  The  staff 
officers  were  generally  "sick,"  and  this  was  their  pro- 
verbial panacea  and  preventive.  We  sick  privates  were 
fed  on  blue  pills.  We  never  got  whisky,  unless  we 
stole  it — which  by  the  way,  we  occasionally  did.  The 
door  on  the  wine  cellar  of  the  officers  was  nothing  more 
secure  than  a  canvas  tent  flap,  you  know !  • 

When  my  turn  came  in  the  line  of  delinquents  I  was 
sentenced  to  nothing  worse  than  to  be  sent  back  to  my 
regiment  under  guard,  and  I  reached  Company  K  just 
as  the  boys  were  boiliug  their  coffee  for  supper.  A 
number  of  others  had  been  similarly  picked  up  by  the 
provost  guard  and  brought  back,  and  nothing  was  said 
about  it. 

I  found  the  boys  in  a  state  of  considerable  excite- 
ment. The  Dews  had  leaked  out  among  them  somehow 
that  we  were  close  upon  the  rebels.  There  had  even 
been  some  shooting  further  out  to  the  front  and  some 
slightly  wounded  soldiers  had  been  brought  through  to 
the  rear. 

The  pervading  sentiment  seemed  to  be  that  we  would 
have  a  battle  on  the  morrow.  Who  can  describe  the 
feelings  and  emotions  of  a  soldier  on  the  eve  of  an  ex- 
pected battle?  As  for  myself,  my  mental  sufferings 
were  acute. 

I  supposed  then  that  it  was  because  it  was  my  first 
experience,  but  I  subsequently  learned  that  that  did  not 
in  fact  make  much  difference.  I  firmly  believe  that 
with  most  men  each  subsequent  battle  requires  more 
nerve  to  enter. 

"How  do  you  feel.  Rats?"  I  asked  Davy  Harris. 
We  always  called  him  "Eats."  It  was  a  name  the 
boys  in  the  Guardian  office  had  given  him.  Harris 
was  at  that  moment  very  pale. 

Just  as  I  spoke  there  was  a  sound  of  distant  musketry. 
It  sounded  like  a  far-off  explosion  of  firecrackers.  It 
was  only  an  exchange  of  picket  shots.  We  didn't 
know.     We  could  fairly  feel  a  quiver  of  quiet  excite- 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  10? 

ment  sweep  through  the  camps.  For  a  moment  every 
one  stopped  talking  and  there  was  a  stillness  so  impres- 
sive that  the  crackling  of  the  camp  fires  sounded  like 
pistol  shots.  Then  there  was  a  low  murmur  of  many 
voices.     That  I  had  turned  pale  myself  I  could  feel. 

As  soon  as  I  could  get  my  self -possession  again,  and 
saw  that  general  conversation  had  been  resumed  with 
the  cessation  of  the  shooting,  I  repeated  my  question  to 
Davy  Harris  as  to  his  personal  emotions  at  that  par- 
ticular moment. 

Davy  did  not  reply  for  a  minute  or  so.  Then  he 
quietly  arose,  turned  his  back  to  me,  and  emphatically 
ordered : 

"Kick  me!" 

"What?"  I  asked,  not  fairly  understanding. 

"Kick  me!" 

"What  do  you  mean,  anyhow?" 

"Kick  me!"  Davy  answered  for  the  third  time,  a  la 
Amelie  Rives  when  she  wrote  her  famous  three-time 
"Kiss  Me!" 

Then  I  saw  what  he  meant.  It  was  his  expressive 
way  of  indicating  his  feelings  in  response  to  my  inquiry 
as  to  how  he  felt  then  and  there  on  the  eve  of  an  ex- 
pected battle.  He  offered  no  explanation  of  his  singular 
reply,  nor  was  any  needed.  He  simply  wanted  me  to 
kick  him  for  enlisting  I  felt  the  same  way  myself.  I 
would  have  liked  to  have  some  one  kick  me  then  and 
there  for  listening  to  the  persuasive  eloquence  of  the 
patriotic  orators  on  the  steps  of  the  old  Main  Street  bank 
building  in  Pa  Person  whose  speeches  had  induced  me  to 
enlist.  I  should  also  have  liked  to  have  kicked  those 
self -same  orators ! 

Some  great  things  had  happened  that  day,  of  which 
we  privates  did  not  know  at  the  time,  nor  for  a  long 
while  after,  for  it  remained  for  the  newspapers  and  the 
historians  to  tell  what  had  taken  place. 

Some  of  these  things  will  be  related  in  the  next  chap- 
ter. 


10$  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

SIGNS     OF     A     BATTLE. 

As  said  in  the  previous  chapter,  some  great  things 
had  occurred  on  that  day  (September  13,  1862),  which 
we  did  not  know  about  at  the  time.  Upon  that  day- 
General  Lee  issued  an  order  directing  Stonewall  Jack- 
son to  proceed  to  Harper's  Ferry  by  the  way  of  Sharps- 
burg,  where  he  was  to  cross  the  Potomac  River  and 
thus  make  a  rear  movement,  while  at  the  same  time 
General  McLaws  was  to  go  direct,  by  the  way  of  Mid- 
dletown,  and  seize  Maryland  Heights,  while  General 
Walker  was  to  cross  the  river  below  Harper's  Ferry 
and  take  possession  of  Loudon  Heights.  The  same 
order  of  General  Lee  contained  the  information  that  the 
remainder  of  the  Confederate  army  would  remain  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Boonesborough  or  Hagerstown,  and  stay 
there  till  rejoined  by  the  troops  detailed  for  the  capture 
of  Harper's  Ferry. 

Harper's  Ferry  was,  from  a  warlike  standpoint,  a 
most  important  strategic  point.  It  is  a  cleft  or  opening 
in  the  mountains,  where  two  rivers  join.  The  letter  Y 
is  about  the  shape  of  the  confluence  of  the  Potomac  and 
Shenandoah  Rivers.  On  one  side  of  the  Potomac  are 
Maryland  Heights,  on  the  other  side,  Loudon  Heights, 
and  the  third  mountain  is  called  Bolivar  Heights.  It 
is  a  natural  gateway,  the  only  passage  through  which 
is  the  narrow  road  along  the  side  of  the  river.  The 
Chesapeake  and  Ohio  canal  runs  along  the  river  on  the 
Maryland  side.  It  will  be  thus  appreciated,  even  by 
the  reader  who  has  no  knowledge  whatever  of  military 
matters,  that  this  was  a  most  important  strategic  point. 

If  General  Lee  obtained  possession  of  this  it  would 
give  him  the  key  to  an  important  position.     That  is  the 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  109 

reason  that  Harper's  Ferry  played  such  an  important 
part  in  many  instances  during  the  course  of  the  war. 
It  is  not  my  province  here  to  dilate  upon  the  cowardly 
manner  in  which  Harper's  Ferry  was  evacuated  in  the 
face  of  the  enemy  at  about  this  time. 

Well,  this  important  order  of  General  Lee,  involving 
the  whole  plan  and  scheme  of  the  rebel  army,  in  some 
mysterious  way  fell  into  the  hands  of  General  McClel- 
lan  a  few  hours  after  it  was  issued.  It  was  said  that 
General  McClellan  had  a  copy  of  it  as  soon  as  the  gen- 
erals on  the  rebel  side,  to  whom  duplicates  had  been 
addressed.  How  General  McClellan  got  that  order  no 
one  e^er  knew.  Some  said  that  it  was  procured  by  a 
scout.  Others  that  it  came  through  the  hands  of  a  spy. 
Still  others  say  that  it  was  sold  to  the  Northern  general 
by  a  Confederate  officer,  the  same  as  the  secret  plans  of 
the  French  were  recently  sold  to  the  Germans,  for  which 
the  traitorous  officer  was  sentenced  to  imprisonment  on 
an  island  for  life.  If  this  be  so,  the  officer  in  this  case 
was  never  captured  by  the  Confederates.  If  he  had 
been,  his  bones  would  have  long  since  been  transformed 
into  another  shape  of  elementary  substance  of  a  cereal 
character,  for  those  grounds  are  now  covered  with  corn 
and  wheat  fields. 

As  said  frequently  before,  this  war  story  is  not  in- 
tended as  a  military  history,  but  rather  as  the  experi- 
ence of  a  private  soldier  in  the  ranks;  but  at  the  same 
time  this  particular  circumstance  is  so  interesting  and 
has  such  a  direct  bearing  on  subsequent  events,  that  I 
thought  it  would  not  be  amiss  to  give  it.  Of  course  we 
privates  did  not  know  anything  about  all  these  things 
at  the  time.  Perhaps  only  the  very  highest  officers  in 
the  army  were  acquainted  with  the  circumstances.  All 
that  we  knew  at  the  time  was  that  there  was  every  in- 
dication of  a  coining  engagement  of  some  sort,  for  that 
we  were  in  close  proximity  to  the  enemy  there  was 
every  sign. 

General  McClellan,  taking  advantage  of  the  impor- 
tant information  he  had  so  mysteriously  gained,  pro- 
ceeded to  make  a  movement  that  would  head  off  Gen- 
eral Lee.  He  started  his  army  immediately  toward 
South  Mountain,  which  was  a  high,  rocky  hill,  between 


110  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

Hagerstown  and  Sharpsburg.  By  doing  this  he  would 
cut  right  in  the  middle  of  the  Confederate  army.  And 
there  is  nothing  in  the  world  that  is  so  dangerous  to  an 
army  as  to  be  divided  by  the  enemy. 

To  come  back  to  our  feelings  and  sensations  on  the 
eve  of  an  expected  battle !  We  had  around  our  camp- 
fire  that  night  some  of  the  old  veterans  of  the  Third 
Wisconsin,  one  of  the  other  regiments  of  our  brigade. 
Naturally  the  conversation  turned  to  the  coming  con- 
flict and  the  subject  of  battles  generally. 

After  our  visitor  had  got  us  pretty  well  alarmed 
over  the  horrors  of  a  battle,  and  mj'self  in  particular 
in  a  state  of  nervousness  bordering  on  hysteria,  he 
asked : 

"By  the  way,  boys,  have  you  formed  your  clubs?" 

We  asked  him  what  he  meant  by  clubs? 

"Well,  you  see,"  replied  he,  "if  there  is  a  battle  the 
chances  are  that  some  of  you  will  be  killed"  (and  how 
glibly  he  uttered  the  awful  word).  "In  that  case  it  is 
a,  good  thing  to  have  a  club." 

I  wished  somebody  would  club  me. 

"The  idea  of  a  club  is  this,"  he  continued,  while  we 
were  listening  with  mouths  and  ears  wide  open.  "The 
plan  is  to  divide  yourselves  up  in  clubs  of  three  men. 
The  chances  are  that  the  whole  three  will  not  be  killed. 
You  give  each  other  your  names  and  addresses  of  the 
relatives  or  friends  at  home  whom  you  would  wish  to  be 
notified  in  case  anything  happened.  Then  the  fellow 
that  comes  out  all  right  can  send  word  at  once  in  case 
anything  happens." 

"But  don't  the  officers  report  all  these  things.  Don't 
the  newspaper  correspondents  send  the  list  of  names  by 
telegraph  to  their  papers?"  I  asked,  with  journalistic 
instinct. 

"Oh,  pshaw,  that  don't  amount  to  nothing,"  was  the 
reply.  "These  fellows  get  all  the  news  they  can,  of 
course;  but  they  don't  get  half.  In  a  battle  everything 
is  all  mixed  up.  Men  are  killed  and  they  are  stripped 
of  their  clothes  and  everything  in  their  pockets  so  that 
they  do  not  leave  a  trace  of  who  they  are.  Then  fellows 
get  captured  by  the  rebs,  and  wounded  men  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  graybacks,  and  some  are  left  on  the 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  Ill 

battlefield  to  die  alone  and  no  one  ever  hears  what  be- 
comes of  them.  In  this  case  you  can  write  to  their 
friends  that  they  are  'missing.'  But  as  a  general  thing 
the  three  men  in  a  club  can  keep  track  of  each  other, 
whatever  happens.  I  tell  you  clubs  are  a  good  thing. 
In  fact  clubs  are  trumps." 

The  idea  struck  me  like  joining  a  suicide  club,  but  at 
the  same  time  it  could  not  be  doubted  that  it  was  a  good 
thing.  We  immediately  decided  to  form  ourselves  into 
a  club.  The  club  to  which  I  attached  myself  consisted 
of  Sergeant  Heber  Wells,  John  Butter  worth  and  my- 
self. And  it  is  a  singular  fact  that  all  three  of  us  are 
alive  to-  day.  There  were  soon  decimations  in  many  of 
the  clubs,  but  none  of  our  particular  three  had  to  send  a 
letter  breaking  the  news  of  a  death  in  our  trio.  Two 
of  us  were,  however,  wounded  in  the  battle  of  Chancel- 
lorsville,  but  the  news  of  that  got  home  quickly  enough. 

I  can't  say  that  this  club  business  was  very  pleasant. 
It  seemed  like  writing  one's  own  epitaph,  or  engraving 
one's  own  name  on  his  coffin-plate.  It  made  me  very 
nervous  and  downhearted.  I  felt  sure  that  I  was  the 
one  of  our  three  whose  name  would  be  the  first  to  be 
sent  home  among  the  list  of  killed. 

I  didn't  sleep  much  that  night.  I  could  think  of 
nothing  but  fighting  and  being  shot.  I  wondered  how 
it  felt  to  be  shot.  Did  it  hurt  much?  Was  the  agony 
awful?     I  had  never  seen  anything  shot  but  a  dog. 

A  hundred  times  I  recalled  the  shooting  of  that  dog, 
how  he  yelped  and  writhed,  kicked  and  struggled! 
Imagine  a  human  being  writhing  and  struggling  in 
that  way !  Imagine  me — me,  writhing  and  struggling 
in  that  way,  in  mortal  agony !  In  fitful  dreams  I  saw 
the  shooting  of  that  dog  again,  and  it  seemed  as  if  I 
were  the  dog,  yelping  and  writhing  and  struggling  in 
my  death  agony. 

Then  I  dreamed  that  I  was  at  home,  in  bed,  in  my 
little  front  room  in  Fair  Street,  with  the  aquarium  at 
the  window  and  the  canary  bird  in  his  painted  cage.  I 
dreamed  that  I  dreamed.  I  dreamed  that  I  awoke  from 
a  dream — a  horrible  dream — that  I  had  been  in  the 
army,  and  that  there  was  going  to  be  a  battle.  I  dreamed 
that  I  awoke  from  the  horrible  dream  and  found  that 


112  THE  YOUNQ   VOLUNTEER. 

it  was  a  nightmare,  and  that  I  got  out  of  bed  and  knelt 
beside  it  and  thanked  God  that  it  was  but  a  dream  and 
nothing  worse.  Thank  heaven,  that  it  was  but  a 
dream !  Thank  heaven,  I  had  not  enlisted !  Thank 
heaven,  I  was  at  my  home,  safe  and  secure,  and  that 
the  only  warlike  sound  I  would  hear  in  the  morning 
would  be  the  bell  calling  me  down  to  a  breakfast  of 
broiled  chicken  and  muffins. 

Sleep  on,  soldier !     Pleasant  be  thy  dream !    For  the 
morrow  ye  know  not ! 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  113 


CHAPTER  XX. 

NEAR    A    BATTLE. 

It  was  not  the  breakfast  bell  at  my  home  in  Fair 
Street  that  awoke  me  the  next  morning,  but  that  ever- 
lasting drum  sounding  the  reveille  that  had  become  so 
painfully  familiar.  After  the  vivid  dream  of  home 
related  in  the  previous  chapter,  the  awakening  to  a 
sense  of  my  surroundings  was  a  severe  shock.  But 
there  was  too  much  excitement  around  camp  to  spend 
much  time  in  gloomy  reveries. 

It  is  perhaps  good  for  the  soldier  that  there  is  such 
incessant  activity  while  at  the  front.  It  occupies  his 
time  and  takes  all  his  mind,  so  that  there  is  not  much 
opportunity  to  sit  down  and  think.  And  when  night 
comes  the  soldier  is  generally  so  fatigued  that  he  sinks 
at  once  into  a  leaden-like  slumber.  It  was  not  often 
that  the  soldier  dreams  as  I  had  dreamed  the  night  before. 

"I  tole  you  fellers,"  said  John  Ick  as  he  was  boiling 
his  coffee,  "we  got  by  dot  schlaughter  haus  to-day,  and 
don'd  you  forgot  dot."  Then  turning  to Reddy  Mahar, 
who  seemed  to  be  his  natural  enemy,  he  added : 

"You  don'd  was  so  fresh  yourselluf,  Retty.  You 
don'd  vant  to  fight  so  much  alretty,  eh?" 

"Be  jabbers  and  I  wish  I  was  home,  that's  phwat  I 
does,"  answered  Reddy  very  meekly. 

"No,  you  don'd  vant  to  fight  so  much  as  you  was  by 
Washington,  don'd  it?  I  don'd  was  no  cowyard  now, 
ain't  it?" 

"Shut  up,  you  fellows,"  said  John  Stansfield,  think- 
ing there  was  going  to  be  a  repetition  of  the  racket  be- 
tween these  two  in  Washington.  But  there  was  no 
danger.  There  was  no  fight  in  either  of  them.  John 
Ick  seemed  at  the  moment  to  be  outwardly  the  least 
concerned,  but  it  was  evident  that  it  was  only  put  on, 


114  THE  YOUNQ    VOLUNTEER. 

for  the  occcasion.  Ick  apparently  wanted  to  arouse  the 
ire  of  his  old  adversary  for  the  purpose  of  creating  some 
sort  of  a  diversion,  but  it  was  a  failure.  He  might 
have  kicked  Mahar  just  then,  and  I  doubt  if  he  would 
have  taken  it  up. 

It  was  not  long  before  we  heard  fighting  of  some  sort 
further  at  the  front.  The  musket  shots  started  in  first 
in  little  spurts,  two  or  three  at  a  time.  Then  there 
would  be  a  volley  that  sounded  like  a  rattle — like  one  of 
those  wooden  concerns  that  the  boys  hold  in  their  hands 
and  whirl  around.  Then  something  else — more  warlike 
than  all !     Listen ! 

' '  Hark !  Tis  the  cannon's  opening  roar !  " 

I  shall  never  forget  the  first  time  I  heard  a  cannon 
fired  in  the  army.     And  this  was  the  morning. 

Boom! 

And  the  hills  echoed  and  re-echoed  with  the  roar,  like 
lowering  thunder. 

Whiz — whiz — whiz — whiz — whiz — ! 

Say  it  as  fast  as  you  can.  Start  with  the  voice  loud 
and  strong.  Then  with  each  reiterated  "whiz"  let  the 
voice  fall,  diminishing  in  force.     Try  it : 

Whiz — whiz — whiz — whiz — whiz — ! 

That  is  the  sound  of  the  rifled  shell  flying  through 
the  air.     Then — 

Crash ! 

At  it  smashes  through  the  trees,  or  splinters  the  rocks, 
or  richochets  along  the  ground.    Then,  again,  another — 

Boom! 

As  the  shell  explodes,  its  fragments  fly  in  every  di- 
rection, scattering  destruction  and  death  in  its  wake. 

And  if  you  are  near  enough  to  where  it  struck,  and 
there  is  any  one  in  the  way,  there  is  another  sound. 

It  is  the  shrieking,  the  yelling,  the  cursing  of  those 
who  have  been  rent  asunder  by  those  terrible  fragments, 
and  yet  have  enough  life  left  to  suffer. 

Why  is  it  that  men  curse  and  blaspheme  when 
wounded,  instead  of  praying? 

I  am  describing  here  the  first  cannon  shots  that  I  ever 
heard.  The  part  relative  to  the  curse  does  not  apply  to 
this  particular  day,  but  to  subsequent  experiences.     On 


THE  TOUNQ   VOLUNTBEU.  116 

the  day  in  question  we  were  not  close  enough  to  the 
front  to  hear  the  cries  of  the  severely  wounded,  but  we 
did  hear  the  roar  of  the  cannon  and  we  heard  lots  of  it. 

Once  the  shooting  of  the  cannon  had  commenced, 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  it.  It  was  some  distance  fur- 
ther out  in  the  front,  but  we  could  hear  it  plainly 
enough.  It  was  a  continual  "Boom — whiz — crash!" 
for  several  hours. 

And  it  f ormod  the  bass  and  baritone  for  the  soprano 
and  tenor  of  the  musket  shots.  Once  or  twice,  far  back 
as  we  were,  we  heard  the  peculiar  singing  of  a  rifle 
bullet.     This  can  be  best  expressed  in  type  this  way : 

"Z-z-z-z-z-z-z-zip !" 

The"z-z-z"  represents  the  course  of  the  bullet  through 
the  air.  The  "zip"  is  the  sound  of  its  striking  some- 
thing. 

Imagine  a  mosquito  buzzing  around,  and  then  the 
slap  on  the  cheek  that  puts  him  (and  you)  out  of  mis- 
ery, and  you  will  have  a  fair  idea,  on  a  small  scale,  of 
the  sound  of  a  minnie  rifle  bullet. 

That  all  this  shooting  further  out  in  the  front  was  no 
Fourth  of  July  nonsense  soon  began  to  be  evident,  for 
the  wounded  soldiers  began  to  stream  in. 

It  was  our  first  sight  of  the  real  horrors  of  battle. 

We  were  too  close  to  the  front  for  any  of  the  wounded 
to  be  attended  to  by  the  surgeons  without  passing 
through  us  to  the  improvised  field  hospitals,  designated 
by  small  yellow  flags  on  staves  stuck  in  the  ground,  to 
the  rear  of  us.  Thus  it  was  that  we  saw  the  wounded, 
not  with  their  injuries  concealed  by  neat  white  band- 
ages, but  in  all  their  grewsome  nakedness. 

Of  course  these  were  the  men  who  were  "slightly" 
wounded — those  who  were  able  to  walk.  A  wonderful 
number  were  shot  in  the  arm  and  hand.  There  were 
lacerated  fingers  and  thumbs ;  useless  arms,  held  up  by 
the  others  unhurt ;  men  with  the  tips  of  their  noses  shot 
off;  soldiers  with  the  fragment  of  an  ear  hanging  down 
alongside  of  their  necks ;  men  painfully  limping  from 
the  effects  of  shots  in  the  leg  or  foot;  officers  and  pri- 
vates with  blood  streaming  over  their  faces  from  scalp- 
wounds — the  most  terrible  of  all  to  look  at,  but  in 
reality  the  least  dangerous.  All  these  hurried  to  the 
doctors  in  the  rear. 


116  TEE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

What  struck  me  was  the  utter  nonchalance  of  the 
wounded.  Of  those  able  to  walk,  no  matter  how  des- 
perately hurt  they  seemed  to  be,  no  matter  how  bloody 
they  were,  none  uttered  a  cry  or  a  complaint.  On  the 
contrary  they  seemed  to  be  remarkably  cheerful  and 
chipper.  Had  those  men  been  similiarly  injured  in  civil 
life  they  would  have  indulged  in  vehement  demonstra- 
tions of  agony. 

But  when  a  man  is  wounded  in  the  army,  it  seems  as 
if  his  system,  both  mental  and  physical,  were  nerved  up 
to  it.  And  furthermore  there  is  a  feeling  of  inexpres- 
sible exultation  over  the  fact  that  one  has  escaped  some- 
thing worse,  and  the  victim  is  also  braced  up  with  the 
knowledge  that  for  awhile  at  least  he  will  have  no 
fighting  to  do,  and  that  there  is  a  good  prospect  of  his 
getting  a  furlough  to  go  home  and  see  his  family. 

I  did  not  appreciate  all  this  at  the  moment  and  so  was 
struck  with  the  apparent  unconcern  of  those  who  had 
been  wounded.  When  I  was  wounded  myself  on  a  sub- 
sequent occasion,  I  learned  to  understand  these  things. 

And  furthermore,  when  a  man  is  shot,  if  it  be  not  in 
a  vital  spot,  the  immediate  pain  is  not  severe.  The  real 
agony  comes  later,  when  inflammation  begins  to  set  in, 
and  the  entire  system  is  involved  with  the  fever  that 
invariably  follows  gunshot  wounds  sooner  or  later.  If 
you  want  to  know  how  it  feels  to  be  shot  through  the 
leg,  for  instance,  let  some  one  throw  a  stone  from  across 
the  street  so  that  it  will  strike  you.  There  will  be  a 
sharp  sting,  followed  by  a  sort  of  numbness.  That  is 
almost  exactly  the  sensation  of  being  shot  through  a 
muscular  part  of  the  body. 

But  afterward — when  the  fever  begins !  Then  there 
are  long  and  tedious  days  and  nights  of  intolerable 
agony. 

Pretty  soon  the  more  severely  wounded  began  to  come 
through  on  stretchers,  carried  on  blankets  with  the 
sound  men  holding  each  corner ;  or  being  lifted  by  the 
legs  and  arms  in  the  most  primitive  way. 

We  were  lying  near  the  town  of  Boonesborough. 
Here  the  wounded  were  taken.  The  churches,  school- 
houses  and  even  residences  taken  possession  of  as  hos- 
pitals became  at  once  the  scenes  of  surgical  butchery.  I 
use  this  word  in  no  offensive  sense. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEEB.  117 

And  yet,  one  week  previous,  the  people  of  Boones- 
borough  had  no  more  idea  that  they  would  be  in  the 
immediate  theater  of  actual  war  than  had  the  people  of 
the  quietest  town  in  the  country.  Imagine  the  feelings 
of  the  women  and  children  on  seeing  their  homes  sud- 
denly filled  with  mutilated  and  bleeding  soldiers, 
spread  in  rows  along  the  floor  of  the  parlor  and  dining 
room !  And  yet  one  week — in  fact  two  days — before, 
there  were  no  more  signs  of  such  a  thing  happening  in 
that  particular  town  than  there  is  to-day,  I  might  almost 
say. 

What  were  my  feelings  all  this  time?  I  can  hardly 
describe  them.  We  lay  there  momentarily  expecting  to 
be  ordered  into  the  thick  of  the  fray  ourselves !  We 
did  not  know  at  what  minute  our  turn  would  come,  or 
how  soon  some  of  us  might  swell  the  number  of  muti- 
lated human  beings  going  back  to  the  surgeon's  knife. 
As  for  myself  I  remember  that  I  was  in  a  state  border- 
ing on  a  panic.  I  was  almost  out  of  my  head.  In  fact 
I  was  mentally  and  physically  almost  paralyzed.  I 
moved  about  in  a  misty,  hazy  sort  of  a  way,  hardly 
knowing  where  I  was  or  what  I  was  doing. 

There  was  not  much  talk  among  the  boys  that  day. 
The  same  listless,  despairing  spirit  seemed  to  prevade 

all. 

What  was  going  on?  We  didn't  know.  What  bat- 
tle was  it?  We  didn't  know.  All  that  we  knew  was 
that  there  was  a  scene  of  carnage  being  enacted  some- 
where out  there  a  little  further  in  front,  where  human 
beings  were  being  torn  to  pieces.  And  all  that  we 
thought  of  was  that  our  turn  to  take  part  in  the  awful 
scene  would  soon  come. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  I  asked  Davy  Harris  as 
he  threw  himself  on  the  grass  beside  me. 

Harris  was  very  pale.     He  replied : 

"I  think " 

The  sentence  was  not  completed.  It  was  interrupted 
by  the  order : 

"Fall  in,  Thirteenth!" 

Davy  Harris  and  I  exchanged  nervous  glances. 

"Our  turn  has  come,  Joe,"  said  he  quietly. 


im  THE  YOUN&   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SOME   AWFUL   FIGURES. 

Of  course  we  thought  surely  that  our  turn  had  come 
and  that  we  were  about  to  be  precipitated  into  a  battle. 
Does  the  reader  wonder  that  we  were  demoralized? 
Consider  the  situation. 

We  had  barely  entered  the  service.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  it  was  only  two  weeks  since  we  had  left  the  mus- 
tering camp  at  Newark.  The  most  of  us  had  never 
fired  a  gun  in  our  lives  with  the  exception  of  the  single 
volley  over  the  canal  at  Camp  Frelinghuysen  in  the 
battalion  drill.  We  had  had  no  experience,  but  little 
drilling,  and  were  practically  as  ignorant  of  military 
movements  as  we  were  on  the  day  we  enlisted. 

We  had  entered  the  army  with  the  idea  of  course  that 
we  would  some  day  in  the  future  be  precipitated  into 
an  engagement,  but  we  did  not  imagine  that  we  would 
be  thus  summarily  hustled  from  our  homes  to  the  bat- 
tlefield without  being  hardened  and  prepared  for  it  by 
degrees,  as  it  were.  In  the  whole  course  of  the  war  I 
do  not  believe  there  ever  was  a  regiment  so  suddenly 
engaged  in  a  battle  after  entering  the  service  as  the 
Thirteenth  New  Jersey. 

It  so  happened  that  we  did  not  get  into  a  fight  that 
day,  nor  for  a  couple  of  days  later,  but  the  same  remark 
holds  good  about  the  remarkably  short  time  that  existed 
between  the  time  of  our  enlistment  and  our  experience 
in  actual  warfare,  in  one  of  the  most  sanguinary  of  con- 
flicts. 

I  believe  that  if  we  had  really  been  ordered  into  a 
fight  that  day  I  would  have  fainted  from  terror  and 
nervous  weakness.  But  fortunately,  at  least  for  me, 
we  didn't  get  into  that  battle.     It  was  only  one  of  those 


THE  TOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  119 

mysterious  movements  that  were  so  frequent — a  change 
of  position.  There  may  have  been  some  reason  for  these 
constant  changes,  and  again  there  may  not  have  been. 
I  still  incline  to  the  latter  idea.  But  nevertheless,  it 
did  seem  as  if  we  were  forever  changing  our  position 
and  moving  from  this  spot  to  that  without  any  sense  or 
reason  whatever.  That  was  all  it  amounted  to  on  this 
occasion. 

And  to  our  intense  satisfaction  and  relief  there  was  a 
sudden  cessation  of  the  firing  in  the  front.  Whatever 
had  been  going  on,  it  had  evidently  come  to  a  settle- 
ment some  way. 

What  we  had  heard,  as  we  learned  later,  was  the  en- 
gagement that  has  gone  into  history  as  the  battle  of 
South  Mountain.  It  wasn't  a  long  engagement,  but  it 
was  an  important  one,  and  had  it  been  properly  followed 
up  and  had  the  other  departments  of  the  army  properly 
co-operated,  the  result  would  have  been  of  inestimable 
value  to  the  Northern  army. 

General  McClellan  had  captured  the  South  Mountain 
passes  at  the  engagement  at  Turner's  Gap,  although  not 
without  considerable  loss.  The  Confederate  loss  in  this 
engagement  at  South  Mountain  has  been  put  down  at 
about  3,000,  including  some  prisoners.  The  loss  on  both 
sides  in  the  shape  of  killed,  wounded  and  prisoners,  was 
perhaps  5,000.  This  is  not  much  of  a  battle  compared 
with  some  of  the  fights  during  the  war,  but  it  was  a  con- 
siderable one  just  the  same,  even  in  these  days,  as  will 
be  seen  by  comparing  the  number  with  that  of  some  of 
the  recent  engagements  between  the  Japs  and  Chinese, 
with  all  the  former's  advantage  of  improved  weapons 
and  ammunition. 

And  by  the  way,  is  the  reader  of  this  a  sufficient  stu- 
dent of  history  to  notice  the  fact  that  as  civilization 
progresses  and  the  means  of  killing  people  are  facilited, 
the  losses  in  battle  continually  decrease?  The  accepted 
theory  is  that  eventually  the  instruments  of  wholesale 
slaughter  and  death  will  be  so  perfected  that  a  fight  be- 
tween two  armies  will  mean  nothing  less  than  total 
annihilation  of  one  or  the  other;  that  this  will  reach 
such  a  stage  that  war  will  cease  to  be  possible,  and  that 
the  differences  of  the  future  will  be  settled  by  arbitra- 


120  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

tion  instead  of  by  recourse  to  arms.  But  the  facts  do 
not  bear  this  out.  Histor}^  tells  us  that  they  had  a  good 
deal  more  extensive  list  of  fatalities  in  olden  times  than 
at  present,  which,  if  the  records  are  correct,  suggest 
some  strange  comparisons. 

Modern  warfare  has  been  aptly  described  as  an  im- 
proved and  scientific  way  of  throwing  stones.  In  olden 
times  a  battle  was  more  in  the  nature  of  a  hand-to-hand 
conflict  and  the  number  of  killed  and  wounded  was 
undoubted l}r  larger. 

At  the  battle  of  Cressy  the  arms  of  the  English  Prince 
of  Wales  were  won  by  Edward,  the  Black  Prince. 
Among  the  killed  on  the  side  of  the  French  was  the 
King  of  Bohemia,  whose  crest  was  three  ostrich  feathers 
and  the  motto  "Ich  Dien"  (I  serve).  At  the  conclusion 
of  the  battle  the  crest  and  the  motto  were  adopted  by 
the  Black  Prince,  and  have  ever  since  been  worn  by  the 
Prince  of  Wales.  I  interpolate  this  simply  as  an  inter- 
esting fact.  What  I  wanted  to  say  was  that  at  that 
battle  the  French  went  into  the  fight  with  nearly  100,000 
men  and  at  the  close  of  the  day  the  French  king  fled 
with  five  knights  and  sixty  soldiers.  Over  40,000  men 
had  been  killed  or  wounded  and  the  rest  of  the  army 
had  scattered  in  every  direction. 

At  the  battle  of  Borodino  there  were  250,000  men  en- 
gaged, and  in  one  day  78.000,  or  31  per  cent.,  had  been 
killed  and  wounded.  Every  woman  in  France  wore 
mourning  after  that  battle.  In  the  Roman  army  of 
146, 00§  men,  the  loss  was  52,000  or  34  per  cent.,  at  the 
battle  of  Cannae.  All  the  prisoners  were  massacred, 
and  Hannibal,  the  victor,  sent  to  Carthage  five  bushels 
of  gold  rings  taken  from  the  fingers  of  the  enemy's 
knights  that  were  killed. 

As  the  Battle  of  a  Week,  in  732  a.d.,  in  which 
Martel  overthrew  the  Saracens,  there  were  550,000  men 
engaged,  of  whom  375,000  were  killed  on  the  field. 
This  was  the  bloodiest  battle  of  history,  and  yet  the 
arms  at  the  time  must  have  been  of  an  extremely  primi- 
tive character.  Among  the  140,000  who  participated 
at  Waterloo,  the  loss  was  51,000.  In  the  Battle  of  Na- 
tions at  Leipsig    in    1813,    there    were   320,000  men 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  121 

engaged,  and  the  loss  was  111,000.  Of  the  320,000  en- 
gaged at  Gravelotte,  the  killed  and  wounded  numbered 
48,000.  At  Marengo,  in  which  58,000  were  engaged, 
the  loss  was  13,000. 

To  afford  a  comparison  with  our  late  war,  I  will  cite 
the  battle  of  Gettysburg  as  an  example.  In  this  en- 
gagement there  were  140,000  men  opposed  to  each  other. 
The  loss  in  killed,  wounded  and  missing  during  the  three 
days'  righting  at  Gettysburg,  was — Federal,  28,898; 
Confederate,  37,000;  total,  65,898.  That  is  between  25 
and  30  per  cent.  But  this  was  not  only  the  largest  battle 
of  the  war,  but  the  loss  was  proportionately  the  great- 
est. The  average  loss  in  battle,  according  to  statistical 
historians  who  have  made  a  study  of  "our  late  un- 
pleasantness," was  not  over  10  or  12  per  cent. 

And  yet,  during  the  late  war,  compared  with  the 
armies  of  old  times,  the  troops  were  equipped  with 
modern  and  improved  arms,  and  naturally  it  might  be 
supposed  that  the  mortality  would  be  all  the  greater. 

The  records  of  losses  during  the  last  war  (between  the 
United  States  and  Spain)  are  not  complete,  so  that  they 
may  be  only  roughly  stated,  viz. :  Americans  killed  at 
and  around  Santiago,  from  260  to  270 ;  wounded,  about 
1,600.  Killed  in  naval  encounters  at  Bahio  Honda  and 
other  points  on  the  north  coast  of  Cuba,  5  or  6.  Killed 
at  Porto  Rico,  5  or  6 ;  wounded  60  or  70.  Killed  in  the 
capture  of  Manila  and  attendant  skirmishes,  40  or  50 ; 
wounded,  about  200.  In  addition  to  these,  several  thou- 
sand American  soldiers  and  sailors  died  of  disease  in 
camp,  the  estimated  number  being,  according  to  latest 
reports,  about  2,600.  A  rough  aggregate  would  make 
the  total  American  loss  in  the  war  (including  the  de- 
struction of  the  Maine),  about  3,236  killed  (and  died), 
and  about  5,356  wounded.  These  are  believed  to  be  the 
outside  figures.  Official  and  complete  reports  would 
probably  show  a  sight  diminution. 

The  Spanish  losses  may  only  be  estimated,  as  follows : 
At  Santiago,  killed,  2,000;  wounded,  6,000.  Killed  in 
the  destructioruof  Cervera's  fleet,  600  to  700 ;  wounded, 
400.  How  many  were  lost  by  the  Spanish  in  the  other 
engagements  will  probably  never  be  known,  for  no  fig- 
ures have  ever  been  given  out  of  Spain's  loss  in  the 


122  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

memorable  destruction  of  Montojo's  fleet  by  the  match- 
less Admiral  Dewey  on  May  1,  1898. 

The  last  battles  between  the  United  States  forces  and 
the  Filippino  insurgents  under  Aguinaldo  in  the  Philip- 
pine Islands  are  too  recent  and  the  information  too 
indefinite  to  present  very  reliable  figures.  In  the  battle 
at  Manila  in  February,  1899,  the  American  losses  are 
believed  to  have  been  about  40  or  50  killed  and  perhaps 
250  wounded.  The  Filippino  losses  are  estimated  at  from 
1,500  to  2,000  killed  and  about  3,000  wounded.  This 
was  really  a  large  battle,  for  there  were  no  less  than 
32,000  men  engaged— 13,000  Americans  and  20,000 
Filippinos. 

The  total  strength  of  the  American  army  in  the  Span- 
ish war  was  274,717.  The  war  began  on  Thursday, 
April  21,  1898,  at  7  a.m.  The  peace  protocol  was 
signed  at  Washington,  D.  C,  on  Friday,  August  12, 
1898,  at  4:  23  p.m.  The  treaty  of  peace  was  signed  by 
the  joint  American  and  Spanish  commission  in  Paris 
on  December  10,  1898.  The  treaty  was  ratified  by  the 
United  States  senate  on  Monday,  February  6,  1899,  at 
3s»25  P.M. 

A  comparison  of  the  number  of  men  enlisted  in  the 
war  with  Spain  and  in  previous  wars  by  the  United 
States  may  in  this  connection  be  interesting.  In  the 
Revolutionary  war  the  number  did  not  exceed  250,000. 
In  the  civil  war  there  were  2,320«,168  Federal  troops,  of 
whom  178,975  werecolored  and  6V,000  regulars.  In  the 
war  of  1812  there  were  471,622,  of  whom  62,674  were 
regulars.  In  the  Mexican  war  there  were  116,321,  of 
whom  42,545  were  regulars.  In  the  war  with  Spain  our 
troops  numbered  219,035  volunteers  (of  whom  10,189 
were  colored),  and  55,682  were  regulars,  a  total  of 
274,717. 

I  interpolate  these  statistics  here  as  being  interest- 
ing and  appropriate,  inasmuch  as  they  give  the 
reader  an  idea  of  the  size  and  extent  of  the  battle  of 
South  Mountain.  To  the  private  soldier  a  battle 
is  a  battle,  and  it  practically  makes  little  difference  to 
him,  as  an  individual,  whether  tbe  loss  is  1,000  or  100,- 
000.     The  effect  on  the  army  or  the  country,  however, 

/ 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  123 

is  more  or  less  important,  according  to  the  numerical 
and  strategical  results 

The  battle  of  South  Mountain,  although  not  a  large 
one,  as  battles  go,  was  nevertheless  an  important  one, 
for  it  gave  General  McClellan  the  opportunity  he  de- 
sired of  cutting  the  rebel  army  in  two  and  relieving  the 
Federal  garrison  at  Harper's  Ferry. 

But  the  disgraceful  and  utterly  inexcusable  surrender 
of  Harper's  Ferry  defeated  this  purpose.  Colonel  Miles 
had  12,000  men,  73  pieces  of  artillery,  and  an  immense 
quantity  of  military  stores  and  supplies,  and  he  should 
have  defended  such  an  important  place  to  the  last  man. 
But  he  surrendered.  He  saw  the  signs  of  the  big  rebel 
army,  and  capitulated  without  terms  or  conditions. 

The  cowardly  act,  however,  met  with  instant  retribu- 
tion. While  Colonel  Miles  was  in  the  very  act  of  hoist- 
ing a  white  Hag  in  token  of  surrender,  he  was  struck  by 
a  cannon  ball  and  instantly  killed.  There  is  an  old 
adage  that  it  is  not  well  to  speak  ill  of  the  dead.  But  it 
was  a  fortunate  thing  for  Colonel  Miles  that  he  was 
killed  as  he  was,  for  it  blunted  the  rough  edge  of  popu- 
lar indignation  that  was  expressed  at  his  conduct.  In 
those  exciting  days  there  was  little  sympathy  for  a  com- 
manding officer  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  cow- 
ard. Had  Colonel  Miles  lived  long  enough  to  have 
heard  the  criticism  over  his  surrender  of  Harper's 
Ferry  he  would  probably  have  committed  suicide. 

Now  that  Harper's  Ferry  had  been  lost  General  Mc- 
Clellan changed  his  plans  and  directed  his  entire  atten- 
tion to  the  main  army  of  General  Lee,  and  then  com- 
menced the  movements  that  a  day  or  so  later  precipi- 
tated us  into  one  of  the  great  conflicts  of  the  war — the 
battle  of  Antietam. 

In  that  bloody  battle  the  Thirteenth  New  Jersey  regi- 
ment received  its  "baptism  of  fire." 


124  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

EVE   OF  BATTLE. 

After  the  battle  of  South  Mountain,  General  Lee, 
who  saw  that  General  McClellan  meant  business,  found 
what  military  men  would  call  "a  strong  position"  on 
the  west  side  of  Antietam  creek,  and  proceeded  to  get 
his  army  in  readiness  to  meet  the  pursuing  Union  army. 
In  telling  this,  of  course,  I  am  writing  in  the  light  of 
subsequent  knowledge.  Of  course  at  the  time  we  knew 
nothing  more  of  what  was  going  on,  or  what  was  com- 
ing, or  indeed  what  had  passed,  than  so  many  sheep  in 
a  drove. 

But  at  the  same  time  we  felt,  rather  than  positively 
knew,  that  the  army  was  getting  into  position  for  a 
great  conflict.  There  was  a  hurrying  and  scurrying  of 
mounted  officers  and  messengers,  an  anxious  look  on 
the  faces  of  the  higher  officers  over  us  that  we  fre- 
quently met  or  passed,  and  an  air  of  general  importance 
and  preparation,  not  manifest  on  other  occasions,  that 
gave  the  soldier  a  knowledge  that  a  battle  was  immi- 
nent. It  was  evident  even  to  us  raw  recruits,  who  had 
scarcely  been  a  fortnight  away  from  our  homes.  Much 
more  were  these  movements  and  preparations  under- 
stood by  the  older  and  more  experienced  soldiers. 

"We  all  knew,  therefore,  that  we  were  about  to  be 
plunged  into  a  battle,  and  as  practically  the  whole  of 
the  Federal  and  Confederate  armies  of  Virginia  were 
pitted  against  each  other,  it  would  be  a  battle  royal 
and  a  terrible  conflict. 

And,  by  the  way,  speaking  of  Com  pan y  K  and  the 
other  company  from  Paterson  and  vicinity,  Company 
C,  we  had  hardly  yet  become  acquainted  with  each 
other.  We  had  enlisted  in  haste,  had  been  hurried  off 
to  the  front  so  quickly,  and  had  been  kept  on  such  con- 
stant movement,  that  there  had  been  no  chance  to  be- 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  125 

come  acquainted  outside  of  our  own  immediate  coteries, 
so  to  speak.  We  were  simply  a  big  crowd  of  compara- 
tive strangers. 

Soldiers  in  the  army  always  divide  themselves  into 
couples.  Every  man  has  his  partner  (usually  called 
"pard"),  and  they  were  to  each  other  almost  man  and 
wife.  I  will  not  go  into  this  right  here,  for  my  present 
partner  was  one  with  whom  I  only  had  a  comparatively 
short  connection,  and  the  ordinary  relations  between 
"pards"  did  not  prevail.  My  partner,  or  bed-mate, 
just  then  was  Heber  Wells,  the  orderly  sergeant  of  the 
company.  I  could  not  call  him  a  tent-mate,  for  we  had 
no  tents  at  this  time,  having  left  our  Sibleys  at  Rock- 
ville,  and  the  "shelter"  or  "pup  tents"  had  not  yet  been 
given  out  to  us.  In  another  stage  of  the  story  I  will 
have  something  to  say  about  the  man  who  was  essentially 
"my  partner,"  John  Butterworth,  with  whom  I  was 
thrown  in  accidentally,  as  it  were,  but  whom  I  found 
to  be  one  of  the  best  of  fellows  and  a  "partner"  in  more 
senses  than  one. 

Heber  Wells  was  the  orderly  sergeant.  He  was  the 
busiest  man  in  the  company.  He  had  to  call  the  rolls, 
attend  to  all  the  company  reports,  and  in  other  respects 
do  the  work  of  the  commissioned  officers,  so  that  he  was 
kept  at  it  all  the  while  and  did  not  have  opportunity  to 
spend  much  time  with  the  gatherings  and  groups  of  the 
privates.  He  was  always  a  gentleman,  always  a  good 
friend,  always  a  brave  man,  and  always  carried  himself 
with  a  dignity  that  was  inborn. 

Then  there  was  John  Stansfield,  always  full  of  fun, 
but  at  the  same  time  dignified.  Two  other  characters 
were  also  already  familiar  to  the  whole  company — 
"Slaughter  House  Ike"  and  "Reddy  Mabar,"  the 
former  particularly,  not  only  on  account  of  his  peren- 
nial wit,  but  because  of  his  everlasting  penchant  to  get 
into  trouble. 

I  might  also  mention  my  old  printer  associates,  David 
Harris,  Liv.  Allen  and  Curt  Brown,  and  such  men  as 
Abe  Ackerman,  James  J.  Vanderbeck,  James  W.  Post, 
John  J.  Carlough,  Daniel  S.  Wanamaker,  Samuel 
Dougherty,  John  Anderson,  Jacob  Berdan,  Henry 
Clark,  John  Farlow,  Alexander  Kidd,  Archibald  Mc- 


126  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

Call,  George  Mickle,  Henry  Speer,  Thomas  Vander- 
beck,  Charles  Noble,  William  Lambert,  and  others  who 
were  acquaintances  by  this  time,  and  the  most  of  whom 
are  living  to-day.  There  were  plenty  of  others  in  the 
company  with  whom  I  became  acquainted  afterward,  but 
the  above  about  comprised  the  limit  of  personal  ac- 
quaintances at  the  time  mentioned,  and  I  particularly 
remember  them  as  we  were  approaching  the  place  where 
we  were  to  engage  in  our  first  real  fighting. 

John  Ick  had  the  "slaughter-house"  fever  bad  just 
then.  He  broke  out  every  five  minutes  with  some  re- 
mark about  the  "shambles"  and  every  wounded  man 
that  came  along  was  the  signal  for  a  fresh  outbreak. 
But  there  was  no  reprimand  or  fun  cast  at  John  Ick  at 
this  time,  for  we  all  felt  the  same  way,  and  to  a  great 
extent  he  expressed  our  sentiments. 

In  speaking  for  myself  in  saying  that  I  was  in  a  per- 
petual state  of  nervous  fright,  I  think  I  can  speak  for 
the  rest.  Once  when  a  lad,  I  had  come  near  drowning. 
I  was  under  the  water  long  enough  to  remember  every- 
thing that  I  had  ever  done  in  my  life.  I  remember  to 
this  day  how  the  bad  things  stood  out  in  the  boldest 
relief.  Things  that  I  then  considered  very  wicked  per- 
haps would  not  trouble  my  conscience  so  much  nowa- 
days, but  the  smallest  offense  seemed  a  great  sin  then 
and  it  was  pictured  before  me  like  a  panorama. 

So  it  was  now.  I  felt  as  sure  that  I  was  going  to  be 
killed  as  I  did  when  I  was  under  the  water  when  a  lad. 
I  thought  over  my  comparatively  short  life  and  every- 
thing that  I  had  done.  I  wished  that  I  had  not  done 
somethings.  I  wished  that  I  had  lived  a  better  life, 
that  I  was  a  member  of  the  church  and  in  other  respects 
better.  In  fact  I  thought  I  was  going  to  die,  and  I  was 
afraid,  not  so  much  of  the  simple  dying,  as  of  the  mj-s- 
terious  hereafter.  In  fact  I  felt  afraid  to  die,  and  I  am 
sure  that  I  mentally  made  up  my  mind  that  if  I  got 
through  with  this  all  right,  I  would  lead  a  better  life. 

But  alas,  that  is  the  rule  always. 

"  When  the  devil  was  sick,  the  devil  a  monk  would  be. 
When  the  devil  was  well,  the  devil  a  monk  was  he." 

In  other  words  I  am  afraid  that  after  the  big  battle 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  127 

that  came  and  passed  I  was  wickeder  than  ever.     Such 
is  life. 

I  remember  plainly  what  Henry  Spear  said  to  me. 

"It  is  all  right  for  you  young  fellows,  who  have  no 
one  to  depend  upon  you.  But  just  think  of  me  and  the 
others  who  have  wives  and  families." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  I,  "but  don't  you  suppose 
ve  young  fellows  like  to  live  as  well  as  you  older  ones?" 

"Perhaps;  but  you  have  no  one  depending  on  you  and 
that  makes  all  the  difference.  I  don't  think  of  myself 
at  all,  but  of  my  wife  and  children." 

"That's  true,"  said  Heber  Wells,  who  had  heard  the 
conversation;  "if  you  had  a  family  depending  on  you 
you  would  feel  different." 

"And  are  you  not  afraid  for  your  own  self?"  I  asked. 

"Of  course  I  do  not  want  to  be  killed,"  answered 
Henry  Spear;  "but  that  is  nothing  compared  with  the 
thought  of  family." 

I  was  young  then.  I  had  my  doubts  about  it.  True 
I  had  no  family  depending  on  me,  but  I  had  bright 
prospects  and — well,  I  had  the  picture  of  a  pretty  girl 
in  my  pocket  who  perhaps  might  grieve,  and  perhaps 
might  not.  On  the  whole  I  didn't  think  she  would — 
much.  But  I  was  scared  for  myself,  and  I  honestly  be- 
lieve the  others  were  too.  I  did  not  have  any  family 
excuse  to  cover  up  my  fear.  And  yet,  seriously,  in  the 
light  of  later  experience,  I  can  appreciate  the  fact  that 
this  must  have  added  materially  to  the  mental  suffer- 
ings of  the  men  who  imagined  they  were  going  to  their 
death. 

All  this  time  we  were  marching  and  countermarch- 
ing, going  hither  and  thither,  as  if  the  commanding 
officers  were  not  quite  satisfied  where  they  did  want  us 
to  stand.  Late  in  the  afternoon  on  September  15,  1862, 
the  advance  troops  of  our  army  reached  the  front  of  the 
enemy  and  preparations  were  at  once  made  for  the  big 
battle  that  was  expected  to  begin  the  following  morning. 

That  was  not  a  pleasant  night.  We  were  in  a  state 
of  nervous  expectancy,  and  as  we  sat  around  the  camp 
fires  we  discussed  the  awful  possibilities  of  the  morrow. 
The  little  "club"  to  which  I  belonged  gave  each  other 
the  directions  as  to  what  to  do  in  case  anything  hap- 


128  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

pened  to  any  one  of  the  three.  We  carefully  went  over 
the  addresses  of  each  other's  relatives  at  home,  and  mu- 
tually agreed  to  stand  by  each  other  in  case  any  of  us 
were  wounded.  In  fact  we  made  arrangements  that 
impressed  me  as  being  very  much  like  the  preparations 
for  a  funeral.  Which  of  us  would  be  the  corpse?  The 
comrade  from  the  Third  Wisconsin  who  had  suggested 
the  idea  had  told  us  that  there  was  no  likelihood  of  all 
three  being  killed.  One  might.  Perhaps  two  might. 
But  the  chances  were  that  at  least  one  of  the  three  would 
escape.  Who  would  it  be?  I  hoped  that  I  would  be 
the  one,  but  I  had  my  doubts  about  it. 

Was  this  cowardice?  Was  I  a  coward?  Perhaps  I 
was.  But  I  really  believe  that  if  I  was  a  coward  for 
feeling  this  way,  then  ninety-nine  hundredths  of  the 
army  were  cowards.  It  is  not  natural  that  any  man, 
or  any  animal  for  that  matter,  should  not  be  nervous 
and  apprehensive  in  the  face  of  impending  death.  If 
this  feeling  was  cowardice,  then  truly  I  was  a  coward. 
I  guess  I  was  never  cut  out  for  a  soldier,  at  least  the 
kind  that  have  to  fight.  I  wished  that  I  had  joined  the 
"home  guards." 

When  the  reveille  sounded  the  next  morning  we  all 
arose  and  looked  at  each  other  in  a  strange  way.  We 
did  not  talk  much,  but  the  glance  that  each  man  gave 
the  other  was  a  silent  inquiry  or  interchange  of  feeling. 
Nearly  every  man  was  pale,  and  everybody's  eyes  bore 
the  appearance  of  having  passed  a  wakeful  night.  In  a 
listless  way  we  prepared  and  tried  to  eat  a  little  break- 
fast, but  there  was  no  taste  to  it,  and  we  had  no  appe- 
tite. And  when  the  order  to  "fall  in"  came,  we  got 
into  the  ranks  in  a  slow,  despairing  sort  of  way,  as  if 
we  had  given  up  all  hope — the  sort  of  way  that  a  con- 
demned prisoner  pulls  himself  together  to  walk  to  the 
scaffold. 

Let  a  man  of  that  regiment  say,  if  he  truthfully  can, 
that  he  felt  differently  from  the  way  I  have  tried  to 
describe. 

But  we  did  not  get  into  the  battle  that  day.  They 
say  that  "hope  deferred  maketh  the  heart  sick."  I  can- 
not say  that  the  delay  in  this  made  any  of  our  hearts 
very  ill.     But  at  the  same  time  it  was  a  painful  wait, 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  139 

withal.  When  a  man  has  an  aching  tooth  to  be  pulled 
he  wants  to  have  it  hurried  through  and  be  done  with, 
and  the  same  sentiment  prevailed  now.  We  thought 
that  we  would  rather  be  plunged  into  the  unknown 
horror  of  the  battle  and  be  done  with  it  than  have  to 
much  longer  suffer  this  terrible  suspense. 

I  am  only  endeavoring  to  describe  the  feelings  of  a 
private  soldier  on  the  eve  of  his  first  battle.  The  de- 
scription is  tame  and  unsatisfactory  at  the  best.  I  feel 
that  I  have  greatly  underestimated  the  sensations. 

We  moved  that  day  with  Mansfield's  corps,  to  which 
we  were  attached,  to  the  neighborhood  of  Keedysville, 
where  we  remained  all  day.  The  preparations  for  the 
battle  were  seen  all  around  us.  The  troops  were  get- 
ting in  line  for  the  conflict,  and  even  to  our  inexperi- 
enced eyes,  the  reasons  for  the  movements  were  under- 
stood. The  artillery  was  being  placed  on  the  hills,  the 
guns  unlimbered  and  turned  toward  the  direction  where 
the  rebels  were  supposed  to  be.  The  cavalry  were  gal- 
loping hither  and  thither  to  the  front.  Mounted  order- 
lies dashed  up  to  the  corps  headquarters  with  written 
orders  to  the  generals.  When  night  came  we  could 
even  hear  distant  drums  and  bugles,  which  were  said  to 
be  those  of  the  enemy.  We  were  getting  into  close 
quarters  and  no  mistake. 

Late  in  the  night  we  received  orders  to  move.  The 
orders  were  ominous.  Instructions  were  passed  around 
in  a  whisper,  to  move  as  quietly  as  possible.  There 
must  be  no  loud  talking.  Our  tin  cans  and  coffee  pots 
were  to  be  muffled  in  some  way  so  that  they  would  not 
rattle.  Under  no  circumstances  must  any  man  light 
his  pipe  or  strike  a  match  for  any  purpose  whatever,  for 
it  was  a  quiet  maneuver  in  the  dark,  to  be  made  with- 
out letting  the  enemy  know  what  was  going  on. 

That  was  enough.  Company  K  wasn't  going  to  let 
the  enemy  know  where  it  was,  not  if  she  knew  herself, 
and  we  wrere  as  still  as  mice  as  we  marched  here  and 
there  in  the  dark,  stumbling  over  almost  everything  in 
the  way.  We  went  over  fences,  through  woods,  up  hill 
and  down,  past  quiet  farmhouses,  and  crossed  a  good- 
sized  stream  on  an  old  bridge.  We  learned  afterward 
that  it  was  Antietam  creek,  made  famous  the  next  day 
by  the  bloody  battle  that  took  place  along  its  banks. 


130  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

Finally  we  were  halted  in  a  position  on  the  extreme 
right  of  the  line,  and  threw  ourselves  on  the  ground  for 
a  much-needed  rest.  It  was  at  that  weird  hour  in  the 
morning  just  before  dawn,  when  it  is  the  darkest. 

Scarcely  had  we  laid  ourselves  on  the  ground  than 
there  was  some  very  sharp  shooting  in  front  of  us. 

The  battle  of  Antietam  had  begun ! 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  131 


CHAPTEE  XXIII. 

ANTIETAM. 

It  was  the  memorable  day  of  September  17,  1862. 

As  stated  in  the  previous  chapter,  it  was  an  hour  or  so 
before  the  first  signs  of  daylight,  and  we  had  just 
thrown  ourselves  on  the  ground  for  a  short  rest  after  a 
tedious  and  fatiguing  night's  march.  Then  the  shoot- 
ing began  a  little  distance  in  front  of  us. 

Hooker's  corps  had  been  assigned  the  position  on  the 
right  of  the  Union  army  in  the  hope  of  turning  the 
enemy's  left.  Our  corps  was  to  support  Hooker's.  The 
skirmishers  on  our  right  had  encountered  those  of  the 
rebels  on  their  left.  They  exchanged  shots,  and  that 
was  the  firing  -\ve  had  heard. 

It  seems — and  this  was  learned  afterward,  of  course 
— that  Stonewall  Jackson's  force  had  made  a  rapid 
march  from  Harper's  Ferry  and  joined  Lee  during  the 
day.  Lee  was  one  of  the  most  able  generals  and  astute 
strategists  that  the  world  ever  knew.  He  seemed  to 
possess  a  wonderful  facility  for  learning  the  enemy's 
movements  and  as  if  by  intuition  knew  what  they  were 
intended  for.  Thus  by  bringing  his  own  troops  into  the 
proper  position  he  frequently  frustrated  the  best-laid 
plans  of  the  Northern  generals.  In  this  way  on  this 
occasion  he  had  strengthened  the  weakest  point  of  the 
Confederate's  right,  where  General  McClellan  had 
intended  to  make  his  most  savage  attack. 

Although  but  two  weeks  away  from  home,  as  it  were, 
we  had  become  quite  used  to  the  sound  of  musketry,  but 
never  before  did  the  shooting  seem  to  have  the  same 
significance  'that  it  d  id  now.  We  knew  that  we  were 
in  for  it.  We  waited  for  daylight  as  the  condemned 
murderer  waits  for  the  sun  to  rise  on  his  last  day,  for 


13$  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

there  was  not  one  of  us  that  did  not  regard  it  as  his  last 
day. 

"We  was  by  dot  schlaughter-haus  now,  sure,  alretty," 
said  John  Ick,  in  the  darkness. 

"Sh-h!"  said  Sergeant  Wells.  And  it  was  the  only 
answer  to  Ick's  lugubrious  remark,  for  we  all  felt  that 
there  was  too  much  truth  in  it.  Even  Reddy  Mahar, 
Ich's  perennial  enemy,  said  not  a  word,  but  hugged  the 
ground  all  the  closer. 

The  minutes  rolled  on.  Did  ever  time  pass  so  slowly? 
Everybody  was  silent.  Everybody  was  thinking — 
thinking — thinking!  The  sun  would  arise!  Would 
we  ever  see  it  set?    Alas,  some  of  us  did  not ! 

The  long-delayed  daylight  finally  arrived.  The  first 
gray  streaks  of  dawn  disclosed  to  our  eyes  a  vast  army, 
lying  in  battle  array,  all  ready  for  the  fight,  it  seemed. 

The  first  thing  done  was  to  serve  us  all  with  a  ration 
of  fresh  beef.  This  was  the  universal  custom  before  a 
battle.  Why  was  it?  Was  it  to  make  us  more  savage, 
like  so  many  animals?  At  all  events  it  seemed  to  be 
the  general  rule.  More  than  once  I  have  seen  an  army 
marching  into  a  battle  with  a  chunk  of  half -roasted 
fresh  beef  in  every  man's  hand.  There  used  to  be  a 
tradition  that  the  Confederates  gave  their  men  a  ration 
of  whisky  and  gunpowder  before  a  fight  to  make  them 
savage.  I  don't  know  whether  there  was  any  truth  in 
this  or  not. 

We  lighted  fires.  There  was  no  use  for  secrecy  now, 
for  each  army  knew  the  proximity  of  the  other.  We 
stuck  our  fresh  beef  on  the  ends  of  sticks,  held  them  in 
the  flames  of  the  camp  fires  and  roasted,  or  rather 
toasted  them,  as  best  as  we  could.  But  before  the  meat 
was  scarcely  smoked  we  were  ordered  to  change  our 
position. 

The  Thirteenth  was  formed  in  "close  column,"  which 
is  a  usual  way  to  prepare  for  a  battle.  We  had  never 
been  drilled  in  any  such  movement,  and  to  get  us  in 
the  right  position  it  was  almost  necessary  for  the  officers 
to  lead  each  man  by  the  shoulders  and  put  him  where 
he  ought  to  be.  And  to  tell  the  truth,  most  of  the 
officers  knew  about  as  little  of  these  movements  as  the 
men. 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  133 

When  we  were  in  the  right  shape  Ave  were  told  that 
we  might  again  light  the  fires  and  cook  our  meat  for 
breakfast.  But  that  breakfast  was  never  cooked.  We 
had  scarcely  got  the  fires  started  than  the  firing  in  the 
front  began  again  more  vigorously  than  we  had  ever 
heard  it  before.     We  were  ordered  to  "fall  in." 

Some  of  the  men  ate  their  beef  raw.  I  was  not  used 
to  that  yet,  and  thrust  my  ration  into  my  haversack. 
I  didn't  have  much  of  an  appetite  auyhow ! 

Then  the  firing  of  the  rifles  in  the  front  became  more 
continuous.  That  was  followed  by  the  artillery.  First 
there  was  a  single  shot,  as  if  it  were  a  signal.  Then 
there  was  an  answering  roar  from  a  far-off  hill.  The 
Union  artillery  responded,  and  the  rebels  answered 
back.  The  shooting  of  big  guns  extended  all  along  the 
line,  and  the  scarce  risen  sun  was  greeted  with  a  con- 
tinuous salvo  that  sounded  like  ten  thousand  anvil 
choruses. 

The  "boom — whiz — crash — boom"  described  in  a 
previous  chapter,  was  repeated  and  repeated  a  hundred, 
a  thousand,  yes,  thousands  of  times',  till  the  skies 
crashed  like  a  thousand  severe  summer  thunder-storms. 
It  was  simply  awful!  The  noise  was  ear-splitting, 
and  the  effect  on  the  nerves  was  terrible.  I  really 
believe  that  if  it  were  not  for  the  infernal  noise  of  the 
artillery  in  a  battle  it  would  not  seem  half  so  bad. 

We  were  temporarily  baited  along  a  piece  of  woods ; 
I  believe  that  this  woods  has  gone  into  history  as  "The 
East  Woods."  Then  every  man  was  startled  by  the 
most  unearthly  yelling. 

None  had  ever  before  heard  such  demoniacal  shrieks. 
They  sounded  as  if  they  came  from  a  lost  soul  in  the 
nethermost  depths  of  purgatory.  We  were  all  startled. 
It  made  our  blood  run  cold. 

"What  in  the  world  is  that  man  making  such  a  noise 
for?"  asked  Sergeant  Wells. 

"Damfino,"  replied  Hank  Van  Orden,  "let's  go  and 
see. ' ' 

Don't  let  the  reader  think  that  Hank  meant  to  be  pro- 
fane, right  there  in  the  face  of  death.  He  was  so  used 
to  that  expression  that  he  would  have  said  the  same 
thing  if  spoken  to  by  the  Angel  Gabriel.     No  one  ever 


134=  THE  TO  UNO   VOLUNTEER. 

regarded  it  as  profanity,  and  even  Wells  did  not  notice 
it  then. 

So  we  went  over  the  edge  of  the  woods  from  whence 
the  unearthly  shrieks  were  coming.  Wells  made  an 
exclamation  of  horror.  There  was  no  more  cool  and 
self-possessed  man  in  the  army  than  Heber  Wells,  but 
the  sight  that  he  saw  was  enough  to  turn  the  stomach 
of  the  most  hardened  veterans. 

There  lay  a  wounded  soldier.  He  was  a  member  of 
the  One  Hundred  and  Seventh  New  York,  one  of  the 
regiments  of  our  brigade,  and  whose  face  was  instantly 
recognized.  He  had  been  struck  by  the  fragments  of  a 
bursted  shell,  and  both  of  his  legs  were  torn  off  near  the 
knees.  The  feet  and  ankles  were  gone  entirely,  but 
there  protruded  from  the  lacerated  flesh  the  ends  of  the 
bones  of  the  legs  i  i  a  most  horrible  manner,  making  a 
sight  that  was  simply  sickening.  Nearly  every  man  of 
Company  K  went  over  to  take  a  look  at  the  wounded 
man  and  immediately  turned  away  with  a  pallid  face. 

There  were  plenty  of  wounded  men  now  passing 
through  to  the  rear,  but  their  injuries  were  compara- 
tively insignificant.  This  was  the  first  time  that  any 
of  us  had  seen  a  man  mortally  wounded  and  in  the  act 
of  dying.  I  think  that  did  more  to  upset  and  demoral- 
ize the  men  just  at  that  moment  than  anything  else  in 
the  world,  and  the  fact  that  he  was  one  of  our  own  men, 
so  to  speak,  and  that  the  same  fate  was  likely  to  over- 
come any  one  of  us  at  any  moment,  made  an  impres- 
sion that  was  terrible. 

Heber  Wells  saw  that  the  man  was  beyond  hope  and 
that  all  that  could  be  done  for  him  would  be  to  possibly 
relieve  his  sufferings. 

"What  do  you  want,  man?"  asked  Heber,  sympa- 
thetically. 

"Water,  water,  water!"  moaned  the  wounded  man. 

Wells  reached  for  his  canteen  and  handed  it  to  the 
dying  man. 

"No,  no,"  he  said,  in  a  weak  voice,  as  Heber  held  it 
to  his  lips.     "No,  not — drink.     Pour — head " 

The  man's  head  was  bursting  with  the  fever  of  the 
terrible  anguish  he  was  suffering. 

"Thank — thank — better — "     painfully    gasped     the 


TSE  YOVN&   VOLUNTEER.  135 

poor  wretch,  as  he  felt  the  cooling  draught  trickle  down 
his  forehead. 

An  order  to  "fall  in"  ended  this  painful  scene.  The 
wounded  man  must  have  died  a  few  minutes  later,  for 
he  was  going  fast  when  we  left  him.  He  is  probably 
in  one  of  the  graves  in  the  Sharpsburg  national  ceme- 
tery marked  "unknown."  But  the  dreadful  sight  had 
made  an  unpleasant  impression  upon  us,  for  nothing 
that  we  had  yet  seen  had  so  greatly  unnerved  us.  I 
don't  think  any  member  of  the  company  ever  forgot  that 
sight. 

We  were  ordered  to  take  a  slightly  changed  position, 
to  support  Hexhamer's  battery,  which  was  banging 
away  for  dear  life.  As  fast  as  the  men  could  load  the 
cannon  they  were  sending  shot  and  shell  toward  a  rebel 
battery  on  an  opposite  hill,  and  the  latter  were  sending 
back  their  shells,  which  were  striking  around  us  in  the 
most  reckless  manner.  The  execution  done  by  the 
enemy  just  then,  to  our  intense  relief,  did  not  amount 
to  much,  for  the  most  of  the  shells  went  over  us,  and 
exploded  somewhere  further  in  the  rear.  When  I  saw 
the  artillerymen  at  work  then,  I  began  to  wish  that  I 
had  enlisted  in  that  branch  of  the  service,  for  it  cer- 
tainly looked  a  good  deal  safer  than  the  infantry  or 
cavalry. 

My  subsequent  experience  corroborated  this.  Let  me 
advise  the  reader  if  there  is  another  war,  to  enlist  in  the 
artillery.  When  an  artilleryman  is  wounded,  he  is 
generally  torn  to  pieces;  but  taken  as  a  whole  the 
chances  of  his  getting  out  of  a  fight  alive  are  a  good 
deal  better  than  in  most  of  the  other  branches  of  the 
service  and  it  is  better  in  other  respects. 

Suddenly  we  were  ordered  to  lie  down  flat,  with  space 
between  each  file  sufficient  for  some  one  to  pass 
through.  This  strange  order  was  soon  understood,  for 
a  moment  later,  the  Sixty -ninth  New  York,  one  of  the 
bravest  fighting  regiments  of  the  war,  came  running 
through  us  in  the  double  quick. 

They  had  been  ordered  to  charge  one  of  the  rebel  bat- 
teries. They  went  down  the  hill  on  the  run  with  their 
guns  on  their  shoulders,  or  hanging  in  their  arms,  and 
when  they  began  to  ascend  the  other  side  of  the  valley, 
they  brought  their  muskets  to  a  "charge  bayonet  l" 


136  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

A  gallant  charge  they  made,  but  they  were  repulsed. 
They  were  ordered  back  to  their  former  position.  Al- 
though a  number  of  them  had  been  killed,  although 
there  were  some  still  in  the  ranks  with  blood  streaming 
from  their  wounds,  they  came  back  through  the  Thir- 
teenth with  as  much  regularity  as  if  they  had  been  in  a 
drill,  and  with  a  discipline  that  excited  our  admiration. 
It  was  this  sort  of  conduct  that  made  the  Sixty-ninth 
New  York  one  of  the  most  famous  regiments  in  the 
war,  and  no  historian  could  ever  praise  that  regiment 
too  much. 

"How  do  you  feel,  Heber?"  asked  Captain  Irish  of 
Heber  Wells. 

"Hungry,  just  now,"  was  Heber' s  cool  response. 

"I  don't  mean  that.  You  know  what  I  mean, 
Heber,"  said  the  captain. 

"Well,  to  tell  the  truth,"  was  Wells'  reply,  "I  would 
much  rather  be  at  home." 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Captain  Irish,  "I  feel  as  if  I 
would  never  come  out  of  this  alive." 

"Oh,  nonsense,"  said  Wells,  "you  will  come  out  all 
right." 

" No, " reiterated  the  captain  gloomily;  "I  will  never 
come  out  alive." 

Do  men  have  presentiments  of  death?  Inside  of  thirty 
minutes  Captain  Irish  was  a  corpse ! 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  137 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

CAPTAIN  IRISH   KILLED. 

Now  comes  the  Thirteenth's  "baptism  of  fire."  And 
a  bloody-  one  it  was ! 

We  were  ordered  forward ! 

Over  eight  hundred  strong,  in  battle  front,  we  pro- 
ceeded. The  officers  ordered  us  to  "dress  to  the  right," 
but  it  was  a  straggling  line. 

The  "z — z — z — ip"  of  the  bullets  could  be  heard 
whistling  past  us.  And  a  moment  later  the  first  man  of 
Company  K  fell.  It  was  Fred  King.  He  was  mortally 
wounded,  and  died  in  the  hospital  about  two  weeks 
later.  The  feeling  at  seeing  one  of  our  own  men  fall 
out  this  way  was  indescribable.  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
do  it.  But  no  matter  who  fell  we  must  obey  orders. 
And  the  pitiless,  relentless  order  was  "Forward!" 

The  cannon  balls  and  shell  struck  around  us,  tearing 
up  the  earth,  and  sometimes  ricochetting  or  bouncing 
along  the  ground  a  great  distance,  like  a  flat  stone  skims 
across  the  water  of  a  pond. 

Wounded  men  lay  everywhere.  Some  were  writhing 
and  kicking.  Others  lay  still.  Some  of  the  human 
forms  were  already  quiet  in  death.  The  number  of 
dead  horses  was  enormous.  They  seemed  to  lie  every- 
where.    But  it  was  still  "Forward!" 

We  climbed  over  a  rail  fence.  It  was  a  road,  the  old 
road  that  yet  runs  from  Hagerstown  to  Sharpsburg. 
We  did  not  take  the  road,  however,  for  the  order  was 
still  "Forward!" 

We  climbed  over  the  fence  on  the  other  side  of  the 
road.  We  marched  some  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  into 
what  was  then  a  meadow. 

We  could  not  see  any  of  the  enemy,  although  their 
bullets  were  whistling  past  our  heads.  The  rebels 
seemed  to  be  in  a  woods  on  the  other  side  of  the  meadow. 


138  TEE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

Suddenly  something  occurred  that  seemed  almost  su- 
pernatural. A  vast  number  of  the  enemy  appeared  to 
rise  straight  out  of  the  solid  earth,  and  they  poured  into 
us  a  deadly  volley  of  leaden  hail. 

It  is  not  believed  that  there  is  another  geological  for- 
mation like  that  particular  spot  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Great  military  men  from  all  over  the  world  have  since 
inspected  it,  and  said  that  it  seemed  as  if  nature,  in  a 
savage  mood,  had  made  those  natural  breastworks, 
simply  for  the  purpose  for  which  they  were  used  on  that 
particular  day. 

Let  me  describe  that  field  if  I  can.  On  one  side,  as 
before  said,  was  a  road,  flanked  by  a  post  and  rail  fence. 
On  the  other  side  was  a  little  valley,  at  the  bottom  of 
which  was  a  small  brook,  and  beyond  this,  a  woods. 
About  two-thirds  of  the  distance  to  one  side  of  the  field, 
nearest  the  woods,  there  is  a  sudden  drop  in  the  surface 
of  the  ground,  making  a  step  of  about  four  or  five  feet 
in  height.  The  perpendicular  side  of  this  step  is  of 
ledgy  rock.  On  the  upper  level,  and  on  the  lower  level, 
it  is  tillable  ground.  It  is  as  if  one-third  of  the  field 
had  simply  dropped  its  level  about  five  feet. 

Standing  over  by  the  fence  the  whole  field  looks  flat, 
without  a  break  in  it.  No  one  would  ever  think  there 
was  such  a  step  there.  It  is  one  of  the  most  wonderful 
formations  in  the  world.  It  extends  from  one  side  of 
the  field  to  the  other,  a  distance  perhaps  equal  to  two 
city  blocks  in  length. 

It  was  behind  this  singular,  natural  breastworks  that 
the  rebels  had  concealed  themselves,  and  quietly  waited 
till  we  had  got  within  shooting  distance  and  then  sud- 
denly stood  up  and  fired  into  us.  When  standing  erect, 
their  aimed  muskets  were  a  little  above  the  higher  level. 
It  was  thus  that  it  appeared  as  if  the  enemy  had  actually 
arisen  right  out  of  the  solid  earth. 

They  fired  into  us  a  murderous  volley. 

Surprised,  demoralized,  we  wavered  and  fell  back 
and  made  for  the  first  fence,  on  the  nearest  side  of  the 
road! 

Does  anybody  wonder?  Remember  that  we  were 
green  troops.  This  was  the  first  battle  we  had  been  in. 
It  was  scarcely  two  weeks  since  we  had  left  the  muster- 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  139 

ing  camp  at  Newark.  Perhaps  there  were  not  half  a 
dozen  men  in  the  regiment  who  knew  the  least  thing 
about  loading  and  firing  a  rifle.  Under  such  circum- 
stances, and  thus  surprised  by  what  seemed  like  an  ap- 
parition of  the  enemy,  the  most  experienced  troops 
would  have  wavered.  What  wonder  then  that  the 
green  and  inexperienced  Thirteenth  Regiment  broke  and 
with  one  accord  made  for  the  fence. 

Most  of  the  officers,  to  their  everlasting  honor  be  it 
said,  were  marvelously  cool  and  collected  in  that  terri- 
ble scene.  They  succeeded  in  stopping  the  stampede. 
They  re-formed  us  on  the  road  before  we  had  climbed 
the  second  fence,  and  we  were  again  turned  against  the 
enemy. 

_  A  cessation,  for  a  few  moments,  not  entirely,  but  par- 
tially, of  the  firing,  enabled  us  to  collect  our  shattered 
senses  as  we  gazed  over  the  meadow  we  had  just  left. 

Then  we  saw  the  murderous  effect  of  the  volley  that 
had  been  fired  into  our  ranks  by  the  enemy  concealed 
behind  those  natural  breastworks. 

There  in  the  meadow  lay  nine  dead  and  sixty  wounded 
men  of  the  Thirteenth  Regiment— the  work  of  a  single 
volley ! 

There  was  but  one  man  there  who  seemed  not  to  be 
wounded.  It  was  Heber  Wells,  one  of  the  bravest  men 
in  the  battle  that  ever  lived.  I  wish  that  I  had  suffi- 
cient mastery  of  the  pen  to  adequately  describe  and  give 
proper  tribute  to  Heber  Wells'  bravery. 

Why  had  he  remained  behind  in  the  storm  of  bullets 
that  were  whistling  past  him,  when  everybody  else  had 
fled? 

He  had  remained  beside  the  body  of  his  dead  captain. 
j      Captain  Irish  had  been  killed  ! 

When  the  captain  saw  the  company  wavering,  he 
raised  his  sword  aloft  and  cried  out  the  words  that  have 
made  his  memory  famous . 
"Rally,  boys!     Rally!" 

And  just  as  he  said  this,  he  fell,  pierced  by  a  bullet. 
Sergeant  Wells  saw  him  fall  and  returned  to  his  side. 
Wells  imagined  at  first  that  the  captain  had  been  shot 
in  the  head,  but  could  not  find  the  wound. 
"Captain,"  said  he,  "are  you  hurt?" 


140  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

"Heber,  I'm  killed!" 

Captain  Irish  pressed  his  hand  on  his  right  breast, 
glanced  gratefully  at  his  faithful  friend  Heber,  gasped 
painfully — and  was  dead ! 

And  thus  died  one  of  the  bravest,  kindest-hearted  men 
that  ever  lived.  Thus  died  my  old  friend,  my  old  em- 
ployer. When  the  members  of  Company  K  realized 
what  had  happened  they  were  paralyzed  with  horror. 
The  poetry  of  war,  however,  had  Leen  verified,  for  the 
first  man  to  be  killed  was  the  captain,  while  in  the 
brave  act  of  rallying  his  wavering  men. 

Heber  Wells  tore  open  the  captain's  coat  and  shirt, 
and  found  a  small  wound  near  the  right  nipple  of  his 
breast.  There  was  not  a  particle  of  blood  oozing  from 
it.  But  it  had  reached  a  vital  spot.  Wells  put  his  ear 
to  the  captain's  breast,  and  heard  the  last  fluttering  of 
his  stilling  heart. 

Then  Wells  searched  the  pockets,  taking  from  them 
the  captain's  watch,  the  papers  and  memorandums,  and 
unfastened  his  sword.  He  tried  to  get  the  pocket  knife 
and  other  things  on  the  other  side,  but  could  not,  on  ac- 
count of  the  way  the  body  was  twisted  around.  There 
was  imminent  danger  of  the  Union  troops  being  repulsed 
and  the  body  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  rebels,  and 
Heber  did  not  want  any  of  the  contents  of  the  captain's 
pockets  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

Then  Wells  made  up  his  mind  to  rescue  the  body. 
The  bullets  Avere  still  whistling  about  his  ears  in  a  dan- 
gerous fashion,  but  he  seemed  to  care  naught  for  that. 
Picking  up  the  things  he  had  removed  from  the  cap- 
tain's pockets,  and  his  sword,  he  took  them  over  to  the 
road  and  called  for  volunteers  to  rescue  the  captain's 
body.  There  were  plenty  of  responses  of  this  noble,  yet 
sad  duty,  dangerous  though  it  was.  Of  the  volunteers, 
Wells  selected  Jacob  Engle,  Lewellen  T.  Probert  and 
Jacob  Berdan,  and  the  four  carried  the  captain's  body 
over  the  fence  and  laid  it  in  the  road. 

Word  was  sent  home  as  soon  as  possible  and  a  dele- 
gation came  on  and  took  charge  of  the  remains.  They 
were  brought  home  and  Captain  Irish's  funeral  was  one 
of  the  largest  ever  seen  in  Paterson.  Business  was  sus- 
pended, the  streets  were  hung  with  banners  bearing  the 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  141 

last  famous  words  of  the  dead  captain,  flags  were  dis- 
played at  half-mast,  all  the  public  and  many  private 
buildings  were  draped  with  mourning,  aud  an  immense 
concourse  of  people  followed  the  body  to  the  grave  at 
Sandy  Kill,  where  it  was  buried. 

Captain  Irish  was  a  member  of  the  First  Baptist 
Church  of  Paterson,  and  a  handsome  memorial  tablet 
was  set  in  the  walls,  and  is  there  yet.  Later,  when  the 
Sons  of  Veterans  were  organized,  the  first  post  started 
in  Paterson  was  named  "Captain  Hugh  C.  Irish  Cainp, 
No.  8."  _ 

Captain  Irish  was  not  the  only  one  of  Company  K  who 
lost  his  life  in  that  battle.  The  others  were  Frederick 
C.  King,  Curtis  Bowne,  John  B.  Doremus,  Robert 
Gammall  and  Abraham  JMargoff .  The  latter  was  killed 
instantaneously.  The  others  were  mortally  wounded 
and  died  afterward.  The  case  of  Curtis  Bowne  was 
very  peculiar,  as  will  be  described  a  little  further  on. 

Company  C,  the  other  Paterson  company,  also  suf- 
fered severely,  there  being  three  who  were  fatally  shot, 
namely :  Peter  Arlington,  John  M.  Sheperd  and  George 
Me3*ers.     All  these  were  Paterson  boys. 

Altogether  in  the  regiment,  however,  as  before  stated, 
there  were  nine  killed  and  some  sixty  wounded,  and  the 
whole  thing  occurred  in  that  one  murderous  volley, 
which  did  not  take  more  time  than  it  does  to  write  this 
sentence. 

The  captain  being  dead,  the  command  of  the  com- 
pany fell  on  First  Lieutenant  Scott.  But  he  was  liors 
de  combat  too. 

The  lieutenant  was  not  killed,  but  sick — very  sick. 
When  Sergeant  Wells  went  to  look  for  him,  he  found 
the  lieutenant  lying  alongside  the  fence,  doubled  up 
with  cramps  and  vomiting  like  a  dog.  Sergeant  Wells 
ordered  a  couple  of  men  to  take  the  lieutenant  to  the 
rear,  and  assumed  command  of  the  company  himself. 

But  the  battle  wasn't  over  yet ! 


142  THE  YOVNQ   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE   REST   OF  ANTIETAM. 

Not  much  account  of  the  time  of  day  is  kept  during 
a  battle,  but  everybody  seems  to  agree  that  it  was  about 
9  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Captain  Irish  was  killed. 

The  battle  of  Antietam  lasted  all  day  on  the  17th  of 
September,  1862.  So  the  fighting  was  not  over  yet,  by 
any  means.     On  the  contrary  it  had  just  fairly  begun. 

People  who  are  reading  this  story  for  the  fun  it  con- 
tains will  not  find  much  that  is  very  funny  right  here. 
They  were  certainly  a  good  many  amusing  things  in 
the  army,  but  there  were  just  as  many  that  were  horri- 
ble. All  phases  of  war  life  will  be  given  in  the  order 
in  which  they  come,  the  object  being  to  present  all  the 
different  experiences  of  a  soldier  just  as  they  are,  and 
that  these  reminiscences  are  given  faithfully  and  accu- 
rately I  am  sure  every  veteran  will  admit. 

The  battle  of  Antietam  was  not  over  yet,  nor  was  the 
part  the  Thirteenth  New  Jersey  played  in  it.  From  its 
position  on  the  pike  the  regiment  was  ordered  back  into 
the  woods,  pretty  nearly  the  same  it  had  occupied  before 
proceeding  down  to  its  baptism. 

We  had  scarcely  got  there  before  the  enemy  made  his 
appearance  in  full  force  on  the  other  side  of  the  turn- 
pike. Then  our  artillery  opened  up  on  them  in  good 
shape.  This  attack  of  the  Confederates  had  evidently 
been  intended  to  capture  that  battery  on  the  hill,  which 
was  giving  them  a  good  deal  of  trouble.  But  they 
didn't  get  that  battery,  not  by  a  long  shot.  The  enemy 
was  given  a  hot  dose  of  shot  and  shell  and  shrapnel  and 
canister  (packages  of  bullets  and  slugs  which  burst 
open  and  mow  down  the  ranks  of  the  victims  like  a 
scythe),  and  the  enemy  was  promptly  sent  back  to  his 
shelter  at  the  edge  of  the  woods. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  143 

The  Thirteenth  Regiment,  already  demoralized  by 
the  volley  down  in  the  meadow,  where  Captain  Irish 
had  been  killed  and  so  many  wounded,  had  not  got  over 
it  and  this  second  attack  very  much  scattered  them.  It 
took  some  time  for  the  officers  to  get  them  together  in 
good  shape  again,  but  they  finally  succeeded  in  doing 
so. 

Just  then  an  order  came  for  the  regiment  to  report  to 
General  Green,  over  by  the  "  Dunker  church, "  where  the 
enemy  was  massing  in  force  and  pressing  the  Union 
troops  dangerousljr. 

It  is  not  often  that  I  strike  anything  lucky,  but  I  cer- 
tainly did  just  then.  It  became  necessary  to  detail  some 
men  to  guard  some  ammunition  wagons  that  were 
bringing  supplies  to  the  battery  on  the  hill,  and  as  my 
name  was  next  on  the  roster,  I  was  one  of  the  men 
selected  for  this  duty.  It  was  dangerous,  of  course,  but 
nothing  to  be  compared  with  ordinary  fighting,  and  I 
gladly  welcomed  the  "assignment."  Some  of  the  other 
fellows  greeted  me  enviously  and  offered  to  change 
places  with  me,  but  I  did  not  see  it  in  that  light. 

So  for  the  rest  of  the  day  I  viewed  the  battle  from  the 
hills,  following  the  ammunition  wagons  around  from 
one  place  to  another  on  the  heights  as  they  visited  the 
different  batteries.  I  don't  know  what  special  use  there 
was  for  a  guard  for  the  wagons,  but  I  did  not  stop  to 
inquire. 

Any  detail  that  will  take  a  man  out  of  the  very  front 
of  a  battle  is  always  a  welcome  one.  The  cannon  balls 
and  shells  came  pretty  close  at  times,  but  I  had  got 
somewhat  used  to  them,  and  nothing  after  all  was  so 
bad  as  the  insidious  little  bullets  of  the  rifles. 

The  main  portion  of  the  regiment,  however,  was  in  it 
again  for  fair.  They  were  marched  down  about  a  mile 
to  the  left,  and  up  the  hill  back  of  the  old  Dunker 
church.  This  was  a  small  brick  structure,  about  the 
size  of  a  country  schoolhouse,  and  it  was  right  in  the 
thick  of  the  battle  of  the  afternoon.  It  was  struck  sev- 
eral times,  and  big  holes  were  made  through  the  walls 
by  the  shells. 

And  by  the  way  the  church  and  its  surroundings 
look  about  as  forlorn  and  uncivilized  now  as  they  did 


144  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

on  the  clay  of  the  battle  thirty-two  and  over  years  ago. 
The  name"Dunker"  arose  from  the  fact  that  the  church 
was  the  worshipping  place  of  a  religious  sect  called  the 
Dimkards. 

Up  back  of  this  church  the  Thirteenth  Regiment,  led 
by  General  Green  himself,  came  near  being  captured. 
The  enemy  advanced  toward  us  with  their  guns  held  as 
if  they  were  either  out  of  ammunition  or  else  wanted  to 
surrender,  and  quietly  marched  down  to  the  right  as  if 
going  peaceabl}T  to  the  rear. 

Adjutant  Charles  A.  Hopkins  (afterward  captain  of 
Company  K),  with  another  officer  went  out  with  a  white 
handkerchief  on  a  sword  as  a  sort  of  truce  to  see  what 
was  meaut  by  these  mysterious  movements.  Hopkins 
had  got  out  into  the  open  field  where  he  was  exposed  to 
every  danger,  when  it  became  evident  to  everybody  that 
the  crafty  enemy  was  trying  to  work  the  dodge  of  get- 
ting in  our  rear,  and  thus  putting  us  between  two  fires, 
which  would  have  annihilated  the  Thirteenth  in  a  few 
moments. 

The  scheme  was  discovered  by  the  Union  troops,  and 
the  fact  that  it  was  seen  through  was  discovered  by  the 
Confederates  almost  simultaneously,  and  the  firing 
began  at  once  on  both  sides  in  a  very  lively  sort  of  a 
manner.  Those  who  were  there  say  that  the  horror  of 
the  fight  that  was  commenced  was  almost  offset  by  the 
sight  of  Adjutant  Hopkins  and  his  companion  skedad- 
dling over  that  field  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  the  bullets 
that  came  from  both  directions  at  once.  As  if  by  a 
miracle,  however,  neither  of  them  was  struck. 

This  engagement  lasted  for  an  hour  or  so  and  there 
were  a  number  of  the  Thirteenth  killed  and  wounded. 
Some  of  those  who  are  put  down  as  being  killed  in  the 
first  volley  may  have  been  killed  at  this  spot,  as  the 
records  do  not  divide  the  encounters,  the  total  loss  being 
charged  to  the  one  engagement  of  "Antietam."  The 
Thirteenth  Regiment,  however,  stood  its  ground  in  -a 
manner  extremely  creditable  for  new  troops,  but  they 
were  confronted  by  superior  numbers,  and  were  finally 
compelled  to  fall  back  to  a  safer  position.  Their  place 
was  taken,  later,  by  fresher  troops,  who  at  least  suc- 
ceeded in  holding  the  position, 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  H5 

In  the  meantime  there  was  some  very  hard  fighting 
in  progress  on  the  lower  side  of  the  Dunker  church, 
where  the  memorable  charge  of  the  Sixth  corps  took 
place,  a  portion  of  which  I  observed  from  my  elevated 
position  on  the  hill  with  the  artillery.  Although  I  was 
personally  in  a  state  of  fright  for  fear  that  something 
might  happen  to  necessitate  my  being  sent  to  the  front 
again,  yet  I  could  not  help  admiring  the  magnificent  ex- 
hibitions of  bravery  which  I  saw  almost  every  minute. 

Fortunately  for  me,  however,  I  was  kept  guarding 
that  blessed  ammunition  wagon  for  the  balance  of  the 
day.  Had  a  shell  struck  it  and  exploded,  both  the 
wagon  and  myself,  including  the  driver  and  the  mules, 
would  have  ascended  skyward,  but  I  never  thought  of 
that,  even  if  I  knew  it.  When  an  old  soldier  told  me 
afterward  that  guarding  an  ammunition  wagon  under 
an  artillery  fire  was  one  of  the  most  dangerous  things 
in  a  fight,  I  felt  quite  nervous  over  the  risks  I  had  run. 
But  where  ignorance  is  bliss  'tis  folly  to  be  wise,  and  I 
never  knew  anything  about  the  likelihood  of  an  ammu- 
nition wagon  blowi?ig  up.  I  faithfully  attended  to  the 
duty  of  seeing  that  no  one  stole  anything  out  of  the 
wagon,  and  I  supposed  that  was  what  I  was  there  for. 
Certainly  I  could  see  no  other  reason. 

The  Thirteenth  Regiment  after  its  retreat  from  the 
field  near  the  Dunker  church  did  not  get  into  any  more 
active  fighting  that  day,  although  it  was  called  upon 
several  times  to  support  other  regiments  and  batteries. 
The  fighting  late  in  the  afternoon  was  more  severe  fur- 
ther down  in  the  direction  [of  Sharpsburg,  particularly 
around  the  old  stone  bridge  over  Antietam  creek  where 
General  Burnside  made  his  famous  stand,  and  which 
has  ever  since  been  called  "Burnside  Bridge." 

So  far  as  I  could  judge  the  line  of  battle  front  ex- 
tended a  distance  of  eight  or  ten  miles  from  one  end  to 
the  other,  and  the  Hagerstown  pike  was  practically  the 
dividing  line  between  the  two  armies  all  day.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  every  soldier  was  completely  tired 
out  when  night  finally  came. 

Colonel  Carman,  the  commandant  of  the  Thirteenth, 
fell  from  his  horse  or  was  injured  in  some  other  way 
early  in  the  engagement,  and  the  command  of  the  regi* 


146  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

ment  fell  to  Lieutenant- Colonel  Swords,  and  he  acquitted 
himself  with  credit.  General  Mansfield  was  mortally 
wounded  in  the  morning  and  the  command  of  the  corps 
fell  on  our  division  commander,  General  A.  S.  Wil- 
liams. In  the  afternoon  fighting  Company  K  was  com- 
manded by  Orderly  Sergeant  Wells,  for  there  were  no 
commissioned  officers  left,  and  so  well  did  Sergeant 
Wells  acquit  himself  that  day,  that  just  as  soon  as 
necessary  preliminary  red  tape  arrangements  could  be 
gone  through  with  he  wore  the  shoulder-straps  of  a  sec- 
ond lieutenant,  and  his  place  as  orderly  sergeant  was 
taken  by  Sergeant  Hank  Van  Orden. 

On  the  whole  the  Thirteenth,  for  the  first  time  under 
fire,  had  acquitted  itself  with  more  than  ordinary  credit, 
and  this  was  publicly  accorded  in  subsequent  "general 
orders,"  which  is  the  only  way  the  rank  and  file  ever 
get  any  premium  on  having  more  than  done  their  duty. 

I  am  not  trying  to  tell  the  whole  story  of  the  battle 
of  Antietam.  That  is  published  in  various  volumes.  I 
am  only  telling  what  I  know  of  it.  It  is  not  much,  to 
be  sure,  but  it  is  as  much  as  the  ordinary  private  soldier 
knew  about  any  battle  in  which  he  participated. 

No  one  had  stolen  the  ammunition  wagon  and  I  had 
done  my  part  of  the  duties  of  the  day.  When  evening 
came  the  wagon  was  turned  in  with  a  lot  of  others  to  a 
sort  of  extemporized  quartermaster's  department,  and  I 
naturally  expected  to  be  sent  back  to  my  company. 

But  my  troubles  were  not  yet  over  for  that  night. 
Something  entirely  out  of  the  usual  run  occurred, 
which  prevented  me  from  getting  the  much-needed 
night's  rest. 


TJSE  YOUNG-   VOLUNTEEB.  147 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
A  "slaughter  house"  sure. 

Instead  of  being  ordered  back  to  the  regiment,  I  was, 
with  some  other  men,  sent  down  the  road  to  guard  some 
cattle  that  were  to  be  killed  in  the  morning  for  fresh 
beef.  To  my  delight  I  found  two  other  members  of  my 
company  detailed  on  the  same  duty.  They  were  Curtis 
Bowne  and  E.  L.  Allen,  both  old  printing-office  associ- 
ates, too. 

There  were  twelve  cattle  in  the  drove  that  we  were 
to  guard,  under  the  charge  of  a  corporal.  We  got  them 
in  a  corner  of  a  field,  and  divided  ourselves  up  into 
three  "reliefs,"  that  is,  one  of  us  was  to  watch  for  two 
hours  while  the  others  slept,  when  our  turns  would  be 
changed,  so  that  each  man  would  have  "two  hours  on 
and  four  off,"  according  to  the  regular  custom. 

We  lighted  a  fire,  cooked  some  coffee,  and  had  a 
smoke  before  turning  in  for  a  rest.  The  conversation 
of  course  turned  on  the  events  of  the  day,  and  particu- 
larly on  the  death  of  Captain  Irish.  Then  we  began  to 
talk  about  the  wounded  members  of  Company  K. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Bowne,  "I  got  a  little  dose  of  it 
myself.     Look  at  this." 

He  took  off  his  cap  and  turned  his  face  toward  the 
camp*fire.  In  the  middle  of  his  forehead  there  was  a 
small  round  bruise,  as  if  it  had  been  hit  with  a  stone. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"I  don't  know.  I  think  I  must  have  been  hit  by  a 
spent  ball  that  just  bruised  the  skin  without  entering." 

"You  are  sure  that  it  did  not  go  into  your  brains?"  I 
remarked  laughingly.  I  had  no  more  of  an  idea  of 
such  a  thing  than  Curt  did. 

"No!"  he  answered  good-naturedly.  "My  brains 
are  not  as  soft  as  that." 


148  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

"Does  it  hurt?"  I  asked. 

"Not  a  bit,"  was  the  answer.  "It  is  nothing — not 
worth  talking  about." 

And  none  of  us  thought  at  the  time  that  it  was.  Yet 
at  that  very  moment  there  was  a  one-ounce  bullet  im- 
bedded in  Curt  Bowne's  brain  that  afterward  caused 
his  death.  He  remained  with  the  regiment  for  some 
days  and  then  his  head  began  to  pain  him  so  badly  that 
he  had  to  be  sent  to  the  hospital.  He  grew  worse,  but 
very  slowly,  and  he  actually  lived  until  the  following 
March,  when  he  died  from  the  effects  of  the  wound 
which  was  at  first  supposed  by  all  to  be  so  trivial. 

This  certainly  was  a  singular  case.  I  am  told  that  it 
was  duplicated  during  the  war,  but  there  were  few  in- 
stances like  it.  For  a  man  to  live  from  September  till 
the  following  March  with  a  large  bullet  imbedded  in 
the  folds  of  his  brain  is  certainly  something  wonderful. 
The  theory  of  the  doctors,  if  I  remember  rightly,  was 
that  the  bullet  had  passed  between  the  convolutions  of 
the  brain  without  lacerating  their  coverings,  that  there 
was  consequently  no  immediate  internal  hemorrhage, 
and  that  death  resulted  at  last  from  slow  inflammation. 

We  couldn't  get  over  the  sad  death  of  Captain  Irish, 
and  as  two  of  my  comrades  of  that  night  had  worked  with 
me  under  him  in  the  Guardian  office,  we  felt  all  the 
more  keenly  his  loss.  It  seemed  as  if  we  had  suffered 
the  loss  of  a  relative.  I  felt  very  moist  about  the  eyes 
when  I  recalled  how  he  had  bathed  my  blistered  feet 
with  ointment  only  a  few  days  before  in  the  camp  at 
Rockville. 

"What  is  that  strange  noise?"  remarked  Bowne;  "it 
sounds  like  some  one  humming." 

We  listened.  There  certainly  was  a  queer  noise  com- 
ing from  the  direction  of  an  old  barn  on  the  lower  end 
of  the  field.  But  we  didn't  pay  much  attention  to  it 
then.     We  went  on  discussing  the  battle. 

During  the  day,  in  the  excitement,  it  had  appeared 
like  nothing  but  a  gigantic  excitement — a  rushing  mob, 
with  deafening  thunders  of  cannon  and  rattling  volleys 
of  musketry;  of  crowds  of  men  rushing  hither  and 
thither;  of  men  and  horses  falling  around  us;  of  bloody 
soldiers  hastening  frantically  to  some  quiet  and  safe 
spot.     It  was  a  nightmare ! 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER,  149 

But  now  that  it  was  over  we  began  to  realize  what 
we  had  gone  through.  As  each  minute  passed  the  hor- 
rors of  the  day  seemed  to  stand  out  more  and  more 
vivid.  With  blanched  faces  each  gave  his  version  of 
the  scene  of  the  slaughter,  and  the  merits  and  demerits 
of  the  individual  members  of  Company  K  were  dis- 
cussed at  length. 

All  through  it  all  came  that  strange  murmuring  noise 
we  had  referred  to.  It  was  a  low  hum,  like  the  sound 
of  the  insects  on  a  summer's  night,  only  less  sharp.  It 
formed  a  background  of  our  whole  talk.  More  than 
once  we  stopped  to  listen  and  wonder  what  it  was. 

"Did  any  one  see  John  Ick  during  the  fight?"  I 
asked. 

"Didn't  you  hear  about  him?"  answered  Curt. 

"No." 

"Why,  he  sneaked!" 

"Sneaked!" 

"That's  what  he  did— sneaked  out!" 

"How  was  that?" 

"Well,  when  the  company  was  re-formed  in  the  road 
after  that  sudden  volley,  you  know,"  said  Bowne,  ex- 
plaining, "some  one  asked  what  had  become  of  John 
Ick  and  Reddy  Mahar.  Lem  Smith  said  that  he  saw 
them  going  over  toward  the  woods  on  a  run.  One  of 
the  sergeants,  I  think  it  was  Hank  Van  Orden,  was 
sent  to  see  if  he  could  find  them  and  bring  them  back  to 
the  regiment,  which  was  just  then  marchiug  back  to  the 
place  where  it  had  been  in  the  morning. ' ' 

"Well,"  I  asked,  interrupting,  "did  he  find  them?" 

"The  sergeant  didn't  find  Reddy.  He  turned  up 
afterward  from  somewhere.  But  Hank  found  Ick,  and 
where  do  you  think  he  was?" 

I  answered  that  I  was  sure  I  could  not  tell. 

"Up  in  the  woods,  behind  a  tree,"  said  Curt.  "He 
had  got  an  old  rubber  overcoat  somewhere,  which  he 
had  put  on,  and  then  squatted  behind  the  tree.  The 
coat  was  covered  with  mud  and  looked  like  a  big  stone. 
In  fact  Hank  said  he  thought  it  was  a  rock  at  first. 
But  the  stone  coughed,  and  looking  a  little  closer,  Hank 
discovered  Ick  hiding  under  it.  Hank  gave  him  a  kick 
and  told  him  to  come  back  to  the  company.     Ick  said 


l£0  TIIE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

that  he  had  had  enough  of  the  slaughter-house  business 
and  was  going  home.  But  Hank  made  him  come 
along." 

"Did  he  take  part  in  the  fight  in  the  afternoon?"  I 
asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  Curt,  "and  he  stood  up  to  the  rack 
like  a  major.  He  seemed  to  have  got  over  his  panic  of 
the  morning." 

"Well,  I  declare,"  said  I.  "I  imagined  that  with 
all  his  talk  about  slaughter  houses  that  he  would  be  all 
right  when  it  came  to  a  pinch.  But  where  did  Keddy 
come  from?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Curt.  "He  arrived  in  the  camp 
just  as  I  left  the  company  to  come  here." 

"Did  any  of  the  other  fellows  of  Company  K  sneak?" 
I  asked. 

"Not  a  single  one  of  them,  they  all " 

"For  the  love  of  God,  don't— Oh-h-h !" 

This  came  over  from  the  direction  of  the  barn  before 
referred  to.  It  was  not  like  a  cry.  It  was  a  shriek.  It 
was  a  loud -cracked  voice,  that  seemed  to  come  from  the 
very  depths  of  some  human  soul.  I  never  heard  such  a 
tone  of  voice  in  my  life  again.  It  was  like  the  shriek 
of  a  wounded  horse. 

We  listened,  breathless.  Then  we  heard  that  mys- 
terious, low  moaning  chorus  that  had  attracted  our 
attention  so  often. 

"Suppose  we  go  over  to  that  barn  and  see  what  it  is, 
Joe,"  suggested  Liv.  Allen. 

I  consented  and  went.     I  wished  that  I  never  had. 

The  old  barn  was  being  utilized  as  a  field  hospital. 
It  was  one  of  those  big  old-fashioned  Southern  barns, 
with  a  large  open  space  in  the  middle  of  a  row  of  stalls 
on  the  two  sides.  The  floor  was  covered  with  wounded 
men,  lying  closely  side  by  side. 

On  the  bare  floor,  in  a  row,  as  thick  as  they  could 
lie,  were  the  maimed  human  beings  that  had  just  been 
operated  upon.  Some  were  conscious,  but  the  most  of 
them  were  moaning  and  groaning.  These  moans  and 
groans  arose  in  the  night  air  like  a  chorus.  It  was  this 
that  we  had  heard  from  our  place  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  field  where  we  were  guarding  the  cattle. 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  151 

I  passed  between  the  rows  of  wounded  men,  many  of 
whom  would  never  be  removed  from  their  hard  couches, 
except  as  corpses.  Li  v.  and  I  stopped  to  look  more 
carefully  at  one  poor  fellow  whose  face  seemed  familiar. 

This  poor  wretch — we  didn't  recognize  him  after  all 
— had  just  suffered  an  amputation  of  the  left  arm  at  the 
shoulder  joint. 

He  looked  at  me  appealingly,  as  if  he  wished  to  say 
something.     I  knelt  at  his  side  and  held  down  my  ear. 

He  made  an  effort  to  speak,  but  not  a  sound  came 
from  his  lips.  On  the  contrary,  he  simply  turned  his 
head — and  there  ran  from  his  mouth  a  stream  of  what 
looked  like  dark-green  paint.  His  legs  stiffened  out,  a 
convulsion  passed  over  him,  an  ashen  hue  suffused  his 
face.     He  was  dead ! 

Horror-stricken  I  rushed  through  the  barn  and  out  of 
the  rear  side,  closely  followed  by  Liv.  Allen. 

We  had  better  have  gone  the  other  way,  for  here 
were  horrors  a  thousand  times  worse.  The  surgeons 
were  at  their  ghoulish  work  on  this  side  of  the  barn. 

Upon  a  board,  laid  upon  two  barrels,  was  stretched  a 
human  form.  Perhaps  it  was  the  same  poor  fellow 
whose  yell  of  anguish  had  aroused  and  startled  us.  But 
he  was  silent  now.  A  young  medical  cadet  was'hold- 
ing  a  chloroform -saturated  handkerchief  to  his  nose. 
The  doctors  were  about  to  amputate  the  shattered  mass 
of  flesh  that  was  once  a  leg. 

The  surgeons  were  in  their  shirt  sleeves.  The  aprons 
that  some  ol  them  wore  were  as  red  with  blood  as  if 
they  had  been  butchers.  Assistants  held  candles  to 
light  the  operation.  I  saw  the  doctor  give  one  cut  into 
the  fleshy  part  of  the  man's  thigh — and  fled ! 

But  I  ran  straight  into  another  amputating  table — a 
board  over  two  barrels.  Here  they  were  taking  off  an 
arm !  Turning,  I  ran  against  another !  In  every  direc- 
tion that  I  might  go,  I  would  run  against  one  of  the 
horrid  things. 

Blinded  with  fright  and  terror,  I  tried  to  escape.  I 
don't  know  what  became  of  my  companion.  Seeing  an 
apparently  open  way,  I  deliriously  rushed  in  that  direc- 
tion, but  meeting  some  obstruction,  I  stumbled  and  fell. 

What  had  I  fallen  into?    In  grasping  to  steady  my- 


152  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

self,  I  caught  hold  of  something  wet  and  slimy!  It 
was  quite  dark,  but  I  could  see!  I  could  see  all  too 
plainly.     Would  to  heaven  I  could  not  see ! 

I  had  fallen  headlong  into  a  heap  of  horrors — a  pile 
of  human  legs  and  arms  that  had  just  been  amputated. 
I  shall  not  attempt  to  say  how  many  there  were.  Were 
I  to  say  there  were  a  dozen  wagon-loads  of  arms  and 
legs,  hands  and  feet,  in  that  ghastly  pile,  I  might  not 
be  believed ! 

And  yet  I  do  not  believe  that  it  would  be  an  exag- 
geration. 

As  I  lay  there,  scrambling  for  a  foothold  in  that 
slimy,  slippery,  bloody,  hideous  mass  of  cold  flesh — 
human  flesh — there  arose  from  one  of  the  operating 
tables  another  wild  shriek: 

"Oh,  doctor!  Oh!  O-h!  Oh-h-h!  O-o-o-o-h!  .  . 
kill  me!  Kill  me  and  be  done  with  it!  Kill  me,  and 
put  me  out  of  my  misery!" 

My  overwrought  brain  could  stand  no  more!  I 
fainted ! 

I  dropped  unconscious  into  the  slimy,  slippery,  bloody 
mass  of  amputated  legs  and  arms ! 


The  young  volunteer.  153 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A  WONDERFUL   FREAK   OF  NATURE. 

The  incidents  related  in  the  preceding  chapter  are 
not  exaggerations.  There  is  not  a  soldier  living  who 
went  through  several  battles,  but  that  has  seen  great 
piles  of  dismembered  arms  and  legs  lying  around  the 
operating  tables  of  the  surgeons.  A  veteran  who  was 
at  the  battle  of  Gettysburg  says  that  he  was  one  of  a 
detail  to  bury  these  horrible  human  remnants,  and  he 
counted  no  less  than  eight  hundred  in  the  pile  around 
the  operating  table  of  one  temporary  hospital.  And  at 
that  battle  there  were  a  hundred  of  such  places  where  a 
similar  thing  was  to  be  seen. 

You  pass  middle-aged  or  old  men  on  the  streets  even 
now,  minus  arms  or  legs.  A  large  proportion  of  them 
were  wounded  in  the  army,  and  their  lost  limbs  are 
mingled  with  the  dust  of  some  Southern  battlefield. 
The  sight  of  encountering  such  a  hideous  pile  the  first 
time  is  enough  to  overcome  almost  anybody.  It  over- 
came me,  and  when  I  fell  headlong  into  the  bloody, 
slimy  mass,  it  made  my  stomach  turn,  my  head  swim, 
and; I  fainted. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  I  remained  unconscious. 
When  I  recovered  I  was  lying  beside  the  rail-fence  fire 
that  had  been  started  by  my  companions  on  the  cattle 
guard.  They  revived  me  with  a  cup  of  hot  coffee, 
which  was  the  panacea  for  all  the  ills  of  the  soldier,  the 
same  as  whisky  is  for  some  people  in  civil  life. 

I  was  very  much  fatigued  and  fell  asleep.  So  did 
the  others.  It  was  Curt  Bowne's  turn  to  keep  awake 
and  guard  the  cattle.  Like  the  rest  of  us  he  was  tired 
out,  and  perhaps  the  wround  in  his  head  made  him  the 
more  drowsy.  At  all  events  he  fell  asleep  too,  when 
he  should  have  remained  awake,  and  some  time  during 
the  night,  Liv.  Allen  awoke  to  find  that  the  cattle  had 
disappeared.     There  was  not  a  single  steer  to  be  seen. 


154  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

Whatever  became  of  those  twelve  cattle — whether 
they  were  driven  off  by  some  one  when  we  were  asleep, 
or  whether  they  had  some  presentiment  of  the  "slaugh- 
ter house"  that  John  Ick  was  always  talking  about — 
none  of  us  ever  knew.  All  that  we  did  know  was  that  there 
were  twelve  steers  there  when  we  were  placed  in  charge 
and  none  when  we  awoke  in  the  night  from  our  sound 
sleep.     Take  twelve  from  twelve  and  nothing  remains. 

What  should  we  do?  Here  we  were  confronted  by  an 
entirely  new  problem ;  we  had  a  vague  sort  of  an  idea 
that  it  was  a  serious  matter  for  a  soldier  to  go  to  sleep 
on  his  post,  but  did  not  know  what  the  penalty  was — at 
least  not  then.  We  had  no  excuse  to  offer,  for  the 
offense  was  self -apparent.  The  cattle  were  not  there. 
Any  one  could  see  that — or  rather  they  could  not  see  it 
— or  them ! 

So  we  held  a  council  of  war. 

"There  is  only  one  thing  that  I  can  see  that  we  can 
do,"  said  Li  v.  Allen.  He  wasn't  a  Methodist  minister 
at  that  time  and  might  perhaps  make  suggestions  that 
he  would  not  make  in  these  days.  "There  is  only  one 
thing  that  we  can  do,  and  that  is  to  see  if  we  cannot  find 
those  cattle — or  some  others.  If  they  are  not  the  same 
ones,  who  can  tell  the  difference?" 

We  caught  on.  Liv.'s  proposition,  stripped  of  all  sur- 
plus verbiage,  was  to  get  twelve  cattle  somehow — hon- 
estly if  we  could,  but  get  them  anyhow.  So  we  started 
out  on  a  nocturnal  hunt. 

It  has  often  struck  me  since  as  strange  that  we  met 
no  guards  or  pickets  or  other  thiDgs  to  stop  us  that 
night  and  ask  us  where  we  were  going,  and  if  we  had  a 
pass.  But  we  encountered  nothing  of  the  sort.  We 
went  right  along  without  the  least  molestation. 

We  passed  through  thousands  of  sleeping  soldiers 
along  each  side  of  the  road  (it  was  Hagerstown  pike), 
and  more  than  once  passed  droves  of  cattle,  but  their 
guards  were  more  faithful  than  we  had  been.  They 
were  awake  and  watchful.  There  were  no  appropriat- 
ing any  of  those  herds. 

"If  we  don't  strike  a  fat  barnyard,  we're  lost,"  said 
Curt  Bowne.  We  all  had  arrived  at  the  same  conclu- 
sion. _ .  .     


THE  TO  UNO   VOLUNTEER.  155 

"And  there  is  do  use  following  this  main  road,"  said 
Liv.  Allen,  wisely.  "Let's  strike  off  somewhere  to  one 
side." 

I  don't  know  how  far  we  went,  but  we  finally  came 
to  a  large  barn  on  a  farm  that  seemed  well  stocked  and 
prosperous,  and  carefully  going  around  behind  it  we 
were  delighted  to  find  me  yard  back  of  the  building 
filled  with  cattle.  With  as  little  noise  as  possible  we 
picked  out  twelve  (as  we  supposed)  of  the  cows  and 
corraled  them. 

None  of  us  apparently  remembered  that  we  had  been 
placed  in  charge  of  steers,  and  these  were  cows.  In 
fact  I  don't  tli ink  any  one  thought  of  that  matter. 
In  the  darkness  of  the  night  it  would  perhaps  have  been 
somewhat  difficult  to  distinguish  anyhow. 

The  corporal  who  was  in  charge  of  the  guard  which 
we  three  printers  from  the  Thirteenth  composed,  was 
an  old  soldier — one  of  the  Third  Wisconsin  boys.  He 
had  gone  through  the  mill  and  knew  the  ropes. 

"This  is  a  snap,"  said  he,  as  he  emerged  from  a  small 
building  alongside  the  barn,  holding  a  big  rooster  by 
the  legs.  The  fowl  began  to  squawk,  but  that  was  soon 
stopped  by  seizing  him  by  the  neck. 

Bowne  and  Allen  followed  suit,  and  each  came  out 
with  a  fine  chicken.  I  was  about  to  do  the  same  thing, 
when  the  corporal  interrupted : 

"We  have  got  about  enough  poultr}T,"  said  he.  "In 
that  next  shed  you  will  find  some  fine  suckin'  pigs.  Get 
one  of  them.' 

I  reached  over  the  fence  and  carefully  grabbed  one  of 
the  little  pigs  from  its  snug  bed  under  its  mother's  side. 
The  old  sow  grunted,  but  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  the 
loss  of  one  of  her  helpless  offspring.  But  I  had  not 
gone  far  before  that  infernal  young  pig  began  the  most 

0  itrageous  squealing,  and  all  that  I  could  do  I  could 
not  stop  it. 

"Drop  it,  d — n  the  critter,"  said  the  corporal.  "Let's 
git.     There  is  no  time  to  fool  around  here  now." 

And  we  "got."  The  other  fellows  held  on  to  their 
chickens  but  I  was  empty  handed  except  for  the  stick 

1  had  picked  up  to  facilitate  the  driving  of  the  cattle 
"I'm  afraid  we  will  catch  it  for  this  in  the  morning," 


156  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

said  I,  when  I  began  to  appreciate  the  fact  that  we 
were  nothing  but  a  lot  of  cattle  thieves. 

"NonseDse,  pard,"  said  the  corporal  from  the  Wis- 
consin regiment.  "These  critters  will  be  all  cut  up  into 
mincemeat  by  the  time  the  old  codger  who  owns  them 
fiads  out  that  they  are  gone.  Besides  this  is  nothing  for 
these  times.  I  have  done  this  same  thing  many  a  time 
before.  It's  a  darned  sight  better  than  getting  hauled 
up  for  sleeping  on  our  posts. ' ' 

I  thought  perhaps  this  might  be  so,  but  my  conscience 
troubled  me  a  little  still.  I  was  a  young  soldier,  and 
hadn't  got  hardened  to  such  things.  Many  a  time  I 
helped  do  similar  acts  afterward  and  never  once  thought 
about  it — unless  caught  at  it! 

It  was  nearly  daylight  when  we  got  back  to  the  place 
where  we  had  been  posted  at  sunset,  and  drove  the  cattle 
into  the  same  corner  and  relighted  the  fire.  And  when 
the  sun  arose  we  sat  and  stood  around  with  faces  as  in- 
nocent as  if  we  had  faithfully  performed  our  duty  and 
had  not  been  away  from  the  place  at  all. 

We  had  a  good  breakfast  of  broiled  chicken  that 
morning.  The  broiling  was  done  by  sticking  parts  of 
the  fowl  on  the  end  of  sticks  and  holding  them  into  the 
flames  of  the  fire,  and  I  can  assure  the  reader  that  that 
is  a  good  way  to  broil  chicken  all  the  same.  We  did 
not  use  the  whole  of  it  for  breakfast,  but  put  what  was 
left  in  our  haversacks  for  a  future  occasion. 

At  9  o'clock  the  relief  came  along  and  a  new  guard 
took  charge  of  the  cattle. 

"How's  this?"  asked  the  officer  of  the  new  guard,  of 
our  corporal.  ' '  This  order  says  that  you  are  to  be  re- 
lieved of  the  charge  of  twelve  steers.  And  these  are 
cows.  And  let  me  see — one.  two,  three,  etc. — why, 
there  are  thirteen  of  them !     How's  that?" 

We  privates  looked  dismayed  as  we  ran  our  eyes 
over  the  cattle  and  counted  thirteen.  In  the  darkness 
of  the  night  we  had  stolen  one  too  many.  But  no  officer 
could  throw  that  Wisconsin  corporal  off  his  gaard. 

"Don't  know  nothing  about  it,  lufftenant,"  said  he. 
"Them  there's  the  critters  we  had  turned  over  to  us.  I 
didn't  count  'em.  Guess  the  other  fellows  must  have 
made  a  mistake." 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  157 

"But  they're  cows,  not  steers,"  said  the  officer. 
"And  you  ought  to  know  that  the  government  never 
kills  cows  for  beef." 

None  of  us  had  noticed  this  wonderful  freak  of  nature. 

"Don't  know  nothing  about  that,"  replied  the  cor- 
poral. "If  them  was  steers  yesterday  they  must  have 
changed  during  the  night  somehow,  for  they're  cows 
now  sure  enough.  It  am  a  curious  circumstance,  1 
vow. ' ' 

The  lieutenant  evidently  thought  there  was  no  use 
arguing  the  point  with  the  corporal  any  further,  and 
said  nothing  more.  We  were  relieved  of  our  charge 
and  ordered  back  to  our  brigade. 

"Dash  my  buttons,"  said  the  corporal,  when  we  had 
got  out  of  hearing.  "I  wish  some  of  you  fellows  would 
give  me  a  good  kick." 

"What  for,  corporal?"  I  asked. 

"Don't  you  see,"  he  answered,  "we  had  one  critter 
too  many,  and  we  might  ha'  killed  her  and  had  fried 
brains  for  our  breakfast.  And  then  did  you  see  them 
udders?  We  might  ha'  had  milk  in  our  coffee.  Kick 
me  for  a  fool!" 

He  was  an  old  soldier.  And  to  lose  such  an  unusual 
opportunity  to  improve  the  menu  of  a  soldier  was  not  at 
all  "in  accordance  with  the  regulations." 


158  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

SLEEPING  WITH   A  DEAD  REB. 

We  got  back  to  the  Thirteenth  Regiment  about 
11  o'clock.  We  passed  through  what  seemed  to  be 
many  miles  of  soldiers,  all  resting.  They  were  lying 
about,  smoking  and  otherwise  taking  it  easy.  And  they 
needed  the  rest,  for  it  was  the  first  time  there  had  been 
a  stop  in  many  days,  and  everybody  was  played  out 
from  the  previous  day's  big  battle.  There  is  nothing 
more  fatiguing  than  a  battle.  One  does  not  notice  at 
the  time  how  much  marching  and  running  about  he  has. 
When  the  excitement  is  over  the  reaction  comes  and 
nature  demands  a  rest. 

It  was  the  first  I  had  seen  of  my  company  since  I  had 
left  them  immediately  after  the  murderous  volley  that 
killed  Captain  Irish.  I  found  the  boys  downhearted  over 
the  loss  of  the  captain.  The  particulars  of  the  afternoon 
fighting  were  related  to  me,  together  with  many  other 
interesting  and  thrilling  incidents  that  I  had  not  per- 
sonally noticed  or  participated  in.  Nothing  was  talked 
about  but  the  previous  day's  experience.  The  boys  had 
seen  a  battle.  They  did  not  care  to  see  any  more.  All 
had  had  enough ! 

Lieutenant  Scott  had  recovered  from  his  sickness  and 
was  in  command  of  the  company,  while  Orderly  Ser- 
geant Wells,  beside  his  legitimate  duties,  seemed  to  be 
acting  in  the  capacity  of  lieutenant  also. 

What  struck  all  the  soldiers  that  day,  and  it  has  sim- 
ilarly impressed  all  the  subsequent  historians  of  the  war, 
was  whjT  General  McClellan  did  not  follow  up  the 
enemy.  The  fight,  as  it  stood,  was  what  might  be 
called  a  drawn  battle.  Neither  party  could  claim  a 
victory. 

From  the  camp  occupied  by  the  Thirteenth  Regiment 


The  young  volunteer.  159 

on  September  18,  1862,  we  could  see  the  camps  of  the 
enemy  on  the  opposite  hills.  We  could  see  their  flags 
and  their  guards.  We  could  see  their  cannons  and  their 
mounted  officers.  They  seemed  to  manifest  no  disposi- 
tion to  renew  the  fight;  neither  did  we. 

All  through  that  day  we  momentarily  expected  to 
hear  a  cannon  shot  that  would  be  the  signal  for  the  re- 
newal of  hostilities,  but  it  did  not  come.  Everything 
was  as  quiet  as  a  country  convention,  except  for  the 
drums  and  bugles  that  we  could  hear  from  the  camps  of 
the  rebels  as  plainly  as  we  could  hear  our  own. 

Toward  night  we  could  see  the  signal  flags  of  the 
enemy  wig-wagging  from  the  hills,  and  we  took  it  for 
granted  that  that  was  preliminary  to  a  renewal  of  the 
fighting  in  the  morning.  When  we  went  to  sleep  that 
night  we  fully  believed  that  we  would  be  aroused  before 
daylight  by  the  thunders  of  the  artillery  and  that  that 
would  be  another  day  of  terrible  carnage. 

But  the  battle  was  over.  In  the  morning  when  we 
looked  in  the  direction  of  the  enemy's  camp  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen.  The  rebels  had  quietly  sneaked 
away  during  the  night  and  had  crossed  the  Potomac  in 
safety. 

There  was  not  one  of  us  private  soldiers  but  was  glad 
that  the  fighting  was  over  for  the  present,  but  at  the 
same  time  there  was  not  one  who  could  understand  why 
General  McClellan  had  not  followed  up  the  advantage 
he  had.  He  might  have  pursued  the  rebels  that  day, 
and,  forcing  them  down  to  the  banks  of  the  river,  simply 
annihilated  them  and  ended  the  war  then  and  there. 
General  McClellan,  in  the  opinion  of  the  soldiers  gen- 
erally, was  one  of  the  best  officers  the  army  ever  had, 
but  his  conduct  on  that  occasion  was  never  satisfactorily 
explained  to  them. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day  (the  19th)  we 
were  ordered  to  move,  and  we  marched  through  a  good 
part  of  the  battlefield.  Then  for  the  first  time  we  ap- 
preciated what  an  awful  battle  it  had  been.  Blackened 
remains  of  soldiers  lay  scattered  everywhere,  gray  and 
blue  side  by  side,  leveled  in  death.  It  was  an  impres- 
sive thing  to  see  a  dead  Union  soldier  lying  beside  a 
dead  Confederate.     Both  had  been  cut  down  in  the  act 


160  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

of  trying  to  take  each  other's  life.  How  futile  it  all 
was! 

There  lay  the  dead  soldier  in  blue.  By  his  side  lay 
the  dead  soldier  in  gray.  What  was  it  to  them  now? 
Their  life  struggles  were  over,  and  what  was  the  bene- 
fit? Perhaps  both  of  them  had  families  to  support.  I 
can  tell  the  reader  that  this  sight  brought  up  many 
strange  feelings.  It  touched  the  heart  as  nothing  else 
could.  Could  the  dispute  have  been  left  to  the  rank  and 
file,  how  quickly  would  the  war  have  been  ended. 

The  Union  loss  in  that  battle  was  11,420,  and  that  of 
the  Confederates,  10,000.  But  few  of  the  bodies  had 
been  buried.  In  places — "Bloody  Lane,"  for  instance 
—  the  dead  bodies  had  been  piled  up  six  and  eight  high, 
just  where  they  had  fallen  upon  each  other  in  a  hand-to- 
hand  conflict.  Many  Union  soldiers  had  been  stripped 
of  their  uniforms  by  the  half -clothed  rebels,  and  lay 
there  stark  naked,  stiff  and  dead,  in  most  cases  with 
their  limbs  drawn  up  as  if  they  had  died  in  agony. 
Many  of  the  bodies  had  turned  so  black  that  at  first  they 
were  mistaken  for  negroes. 

Dead  horses  lay  everywhere.  Broken  muskets,  un- 
limbered  cannon,  wrecks  of  caissons  and  baggage 
wagons  were  scattered  about.  The  ground  seemed  to  be 
actually  strewn  with  discarded  cartridge  boxes  and 
belts,  and  you  could  pick  up  a  vet's  blanket  every  few 
feet. 

There  were  a  good  many  stragglers.  Many  fell  out 
of  the  ranks  from  sheer  fatigue.  I  was  one  of  them. 
The  excitement  of  the  past  two  or  three  days,  and  tho 
fact  of  having  undergone  so  much  fatigue  were  too 
much  for  me.  During  one  of  the  stops  I  crawled  up  to 
the  side  of  a  fence,  lay  down  and  fell  asleep. 

The  reader  will  perhaps  begin  to  think  that  I  was  a 
confirmed  "straggler."  I  can't  well  deny  the  allega- 
tion. But  I  had  plenty  of  company,  for  there  were 
many  others  just  as  bad. 

I  did  not  awake  till  some  time  late  in  the  night.  The 
last  of  the  army  had  passed.  I  could  hear  the  "tinkle, 
tinkle"  of  the  thousands  of  tin  cups  in  the  far  off  dis- 
tance. There  was  no  use  of  my  trying  to  catch  up  with 
the  regiment.  So  I  decided  to  make  myself  comfortable 
for  the  balance  of  the  night. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  161 

There  were  plenty  of  other  stragglers  flying  about. 
Some  of  them  were  not  stragglers  asleep,  but  dead  men, 
although  I  did  not  know  it  at  the  time.  We  were  still 
on  a  part  of  the  battlefield.  Although  the  days  were 
warm,  the  nights  were  chilly,  and  I  felt  cold.  The 
usual  thing  to  do  on  such  occasions  is  to  seek  some  other 
soldier,  lie  beside  him,  and  share  blankets.  The  two 
blankets  and  the  heat  from  each  other's  bodies  keep  the 
men  warm. 

I  soon  found  a  fellow  alone  and  prepared  to  lie  beside 
him.  Nothing  was  thought  of  such  a  proceeding  in  the 
army.     He  was  awake. 

"Can  I  share  your  bed  with  you,  pard?"  I  asked. 

"Sartin,"  was  the  answer.  "I  am  a  little  shivery, 
for  I've  shed  a  lot  o'  blood  from  this  wound." 

"Are  you  wounded?"  I  asked,  in  surprise. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "right  through  my  side  here. 
But  I  guess  it  escaped  by  vitals,  for  it  don't  hurt  much, 
although  it  has  bled  considerable.  What  regiment  be 
you  from?" 

"The  Thirteenth  New  Jersey." 

"Why,  that's  Yanks!" 

"Certainly,  what  did  you  think  it  was?"  I  asked. 

"Nothin',  only  I'm  a  Johnnie,"  said  my  companion. 
I  involuntarily  pushed  back  a  little.  "Don't  be  scart, 
pard,"  said  he.  "I'm  not  going  to  harm  ye.  We're 
all  the  same.  If  we  fellers  had  the  settlin'  o'  this  thing, 
I  guess  it  wouldn't  last  long,  would  it,  pard?" 

"I  don't  think  it  would,"  I  answered.  "What  regi- 
ment do  you  belong  to?" 

"I'm  from  Galveston.  I  belong  to  the  — th  Texas." 
(I  have  forgotten  the  number  of  his  regiment.) 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  the  service?"  I  asked. 

"I  'listed  in  '61,"  he  answered.  "How  long  you  bin 
in?" 

"Only  about  two  weeks,"  I  answered.  "We  got  into 
a  fight  almost  as  soon  as  we  got  here,  and  lost  our  cap- 
tain in  the  first  round." 

"Maybe  I'm  the  fellow  what  killed  him,"  said  he. 
"Nobody  knows.  But  that  is  all  the  better,  isn't  it, 
pard?" 

I  admitted  that  it  was.     And  indeed  such  was  the 


162  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

fact.  If  any  particular  soldier  on  either  side  knew  pos- 
itively that  he  had  killed  any  particular  man  he  would 
feel  a  good  deal  worse  over  it. 

I  don't  know  how  long  we  talked  together,  we  men 
who  had  been  deadly  enemies  the  day  before.  It  might 
strike  the  reader  as  a  queer  proceeding,  but  I  can  assure 
him  that  outside  of  the  battles  the  men  on  each  side 
were  brothers  and  friends,  as  many  an  old  soldier  can 
testify.     But  we  finally  fell  asleep. 

It  grew  colder  and  colder  toward  morning.  I  snug- 
gled closer  to  my  companion,  but  that  did  not  seem  to 
increase  the  warmth  as  it  usually  does.  I  was  too 
sleepy,  however,  to  make  investigations. 

The  sun  was  beginning  to  shine  before  I  awoke  the 
last  time  and  threw  off  the  blankets  that  covered  myself 
and  my  bedfellow. 

"Pard,"  said  I.  "It's  time  to  get  up.  The  break- 
fast bell  will  ring  in  a  moment." 

I  shook  my  companion,  but  he  did  not  stir.  I  looked 
closely  into  his  face.     It  was  ashen. 

I  put  my  hand  on  his  face.     It  was  as  cold  as  ice. 

My  rebel  bedfellow  was  dead ! 


/, 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  1(53 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"JEFF    DAVIS"    AND    I. 

To  say  that  I  was  startled  when  I  found  that  my  bed 
fellow  for  the  night  was  a  corpse,  would  be  putting  it 
mild.  I  think  it  would  startle  anybody  to  wake  up 
and  find  the  person  he  had  last  spoken  to  at  his  side  be- 
fore going  to  sleep,  cold  and  stiff  in  death.  I  sprang 
up  in  horror  and  involuntarily  hurried  from  the  scene. 

Then  a  second  thought  struck  me.  As  a  matter  of 
common  decency  was  it  not  right  that  I  should  try  to 
see  who  this  poor  fellow  was,  and  send  word  to  his 
family?  He  !had  said  that  he  belonged  to  the  — th 
Texas  regiment,  and  that  his  home  was  in  Galveston. 
That  was  all  I  knew.     I  decided  to  search  his  pockets. 

Besides  the  usual  miscellaneous  assortment  of  strings, 
knives  and  other  things  to  be  found  in  a  soldier's  pocket, 
I  came  across  two  tintypes.  One  of  them  was  of  a 
middle-aged  woman  and  the  other  was  of  a  pretty  little 
girl  about  ten  or  eleven  years  of  age.  These  I  at  once 
surmised  to  be  the  dead  rebel's  wife  and  daughter.  I 
also  found  two  letters  that  he  had  received,  which  wore 
addressed  to  "James  H.  Thompson,  — th  Regiment, 
Army  of  Northern  Virginia." 

This  is  the  way  envelopes  were  addressed  by  the  Con- 
federates. They  called  this  particular  branch  of  the 
army  "the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia,"  while  the 
Union  soldiers  always  called  it  "Army  of  the  Potomac." 
Letters  to  men  in  the  army  were  thus  addressed,  giving 
the  name,  regiment  and  army,  and  in  some  mysterious 
way,  after  the  lapse  of  two  or  three  weeks  maybe  after 
they  were  written,  the  letters  would  reach  the  party  to 
whom  they  were  addressed — perhaps.  The  mail  regu- 
lations in  war  times  are  anything  but  perfect! 

It  may  also  interest  the  reader  of  the  present  time  to 


164  THE  YOUNG-   VOLUNTEER. 

know  that  a  letter  sent  by  a  soldier  to  friends  at  home 
did  not  necessarily  have  a  postage  stamp  on  the  en- 
velope. It  was  for  obvious  reasons  a  practical  impossi- 
bility for  a  soldier  to  go  to  the  post'office  to  buy  stamps, 
and  so  the  letters  went  through  just  as  well  without 
them. 

Both  of  these  letters  to  James  H.  Thompson  were 
from  his  wife,  and  they  were  painfully  pathetic  and 
affectionate.  I  also  found  a  half -written  letter  which 
was  to  be  sent  to  the  poor  fellow's  wife,  which,  so  far  as 
I  can  remember,  read  about  as  follows : 

"My  Dear  Wife:  I  will  try  to  write  you  a  few 
lines  to  let  you  know  that  I  have  been  wounded  in  a 
fight  in  Ma^land,  but  it  does  not  seem  to  amount  to 
much,  although  it  prevents  me  from  marching.  They 
left  me  here  on  the  field.  I  suppose  they  thought  I  was 
dead.  Our  army  has  marched  on  and  the  Yanks  are 
coming  this  way  and  I  expect  that  I  will  be  taken  pris- 
oner. I  cannot  stir  away  from  this  place  and  they 
won't  have  much  trouble  in  taking  me,  I  guess.  When 
you  next  hear  from  me  it  will  likely  be  some  time  in  a 
good  while  from  some  Yankee  prison.  But  I  don't  care, 
for  I  am  tired  of  fighting  and  marching  and  I  hope 
this  thing  will  soon  be  over,  for  I  am  sick  of  it.  From 
the  looks  of  things  it  will  not  last  much  longer,  for  Lee 
is  driving  the  Yanks  right  up  north  and  they  will  surely 
give  it  up.  I  expect  to  be  home  to  see  you  soon.  Tell 
Old  Meigs  that  I  will  be  back  after  my  job  in  the  shop 
before  long.     I  wish  you  would  see " 

Here  the  unfinished  letter  ended.  Alas,  how  pathet- 
ically it  read  after  what  had  happened.  I  was  glad 
now  that  I  came  back  to  see  what  I  could  find  in  the 
poor  fellow's  pockets. 

I  tore  a  piece  of  paper  off  the  blank  side  of  the  sheet 
and  wrote  on  it  the  name  and  address,  "James  H. 
Thompson,  — th  Texas  Begiment.  This  man  lived 
somewhere  in  Galveston."  This  I  put  back  in  his 
pocket. 

As  soon  as  I  got  an  opportunity,  which  was  not  for 
some  days  after,  I  wrote  a  letter  explaining  the  circum- 
stances, and  inclosing  the  other  letters  I  had  found  and 


THE  YOUNG-    VOLUNTEER.  165 

the  tintypes,  and  sent  them  all  addressed  to  "Mrs. 
J.  H.  Thompson,  Galveston."  I  never  heard  a  word 
of  the  matter  afterward,  and  so  could  not  say  whether 
they  ever  reached  their  destination.  I  intended  to  write 
again  to  Mrs.  Thompson  after  the  war  was  over,  but  the 
matter  was  forgotten  entirely  until  I  hunted  over  my 
memorandums  for  the  materials  for  this  story.  It 
would  have  given  me  considerable  satisfaction  to  have 
known  if  the  information  I  sent  to  Texas  had  reached 
its  destination. 

I  was  not  the  only  straggler  from  the  Union  army,  by 
any  means.  As  they  say  nowadays,  the  woods  were 
full  of  them.  From  the  worn  roads,  the  demolished 
fences  and  other  evidences,  we  knew  what  direction  the 
army  had  taken,  and  we  followed  along  the  road  in  a 
go-as-you-please  march.  I  here  fell  in  with  one  of  the 
most  peculiar  characters  of  the  Thirteenth  Regiment, 
and  perhaps  one  of  the  most  peculiar  characters  in  the 
entire  army. 

His  name  was  Davis.  I  don't  remember  what  his 
first  name  was,  but  the  boys  always  called  him  "Jeff." 
"Jeff  Davis"  became  one  of  the  noted  characters  of  the 
brigade. 

He  never  would  keep  up  with  the  regiment  on  a 
march.  He  was  a  short,  stout  fellow,  of  the  coarsest 
grain,  physically,  so  stooped  in  the  shoulders  that  he 
looked  hump-backed.  He  was  as  strong  as  an  ox,  and 
about  as  bright  intellectually  as  a  mule.  He  also  re- 
sembled the  latter  animal  in  stubbornness.  He  is  the 
chap  who  has  been  already  referred  to  as  the  man  who 
would  always  insist  on  carrying  two  knapsacks  and  two 
haversacks,  and  if  he  had  been  asked  to  carry  two  guns 
he  would  not  have  minded  it  much. 

Davis,  at  the  battle  of  Antietam,  when  ordered  to  go 
into  the  fight,  stepped  out  of  the  ranks  and  fired  off  his 
rifle  into  the  air.  He  said  that  he  wanted  to  see  if  it 
was  all  right  before  wasting  any  cartridges  on  the 
rebels.  And  all  through  the  fight  he  had  his  gun 
swathed  in  an  extra  overcoat. 

The  quantity  of  stuff  that  this  fellow  carried  was  as- 
tonishing. He  had  enough  equipments  for  the  supply 
of  an  ordinary  squad.     He  was  a  perfect  miser  so  far  as 


166  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

accumulating  necessary  articles  was  concerned,  and  it 
did  not  seem  to  make  the  slightest  difference  how  heavy 
a  weight  he  had  on  his  shoulders. 

As  said,  the  officers  could  no  more  keep  "Jeff  Davis" 
in  the  ranks  on  a  march  than  they  could  fly.  He  would 
take  his  time,  walking  along  as  he  chose,  and  generally 
reaching  camp  two  or  three  days  after  the  regiment  had 
arrived.  It  was  always  a  great  wonder  how  he  escaped 
being  gobbled  up  by  the  guerrillas. 

Neither  would  he  go  into  a  tent  with  the  company. 
He  always  insisted  in  making  up  a  bed  for  himself  on 
the  ground  immediately  behind  the  colonel's  tent. 
Neitner  would  he  drill  or  do  any  other  of  the  ordinary 
duties  of  a  soldier.  He  was  too  stupid  to  learn  any- 
thing and  it  was  not  considered  safe  to  intrust  him  to 
picket  or  guard  duty,  for  the  chances  were  ten  to  one 
that  he  would  not  remain  on  his  post  five  minutes  after 
the  corporal  left.  He  was  punished  in  every  imaginable 
way,  but  all  that  seemed  to  make  no  more  impression 
upon  him  than  pouring  water  on  a  duck's  back. 

After  all  sorts  of  trials,  he  was  finally  assigned  to  the 
duty  of  caring  for  one  of  Colonel  Carman's  horses,  and 
that  he  did  well,  and  he  was  retained  as  hostler  for  the 
balance  of  his  term. 

But  old  Jeff  wasn't  a  bad  companion  during  the  time 
we  were  marching  along  with  the  stragglers,  looking 
for  the  army  that  had  left  us  behind.  Jeff  knew  how 
to  cook  almost  everything,  and  he  managed  to  have  a 
good  supply  of  things  in  his  larder  (haversack)  that 
were  not  included  in  the  regular  army  menu.  He  also 
had  tyro  or  three  estra  blankets,  so  that  we  were  com- 
fortable. Furthermore  there  was  a  quaintness  and 
originality  about  the  old  fellow  that  made  him  interest- 
ing— at  least  for  a  while. 

We  stragglers  were  four  or  five  days  getting  along 
alone  before  we  reached  the  regiment  in  camp  at  Mary- 
land Heights.  In  the  meantime  the  regiment  had 
reached  Sandy  Hook,  a  place  some  distance  below 
Harper's  Ferry,  and  was  in  camp  there  two  or  three 
days,  but  we  could  not  find  them.  There  were  over  one 
hundred  thousand  men  scattered  about,  and  it  was  no 
easy  matter  to  find  a  particular  regiment  in  that  crowd. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  167 

When  we  got  to  Sandy  Hook,  we  found  that  the  regi- 
ment had  moved  down  the  river  to  Maryland  Heights. 
It  was  the  day  after — that  is,  the  24th  of  September — ■ 
before  we  finally  found  them,  and  rejoined  our  comrades 
of  Company  K. 

Maryland  Heights  has  already  been  previously  de- 
scribed. It  is  located  at  the  confluence  of  the  Potomac 
and  Shenandoah  and  immediately  across  the  Potomac 
from  Harper's  Ferry. 

There  wasn't  much  to  Harper's  Ferry  in  those  days, 
although  so  far  as  the  village  itself  is  concerned  it 
really  did  not  look  much  larger  on  the  occasion  of  a 
visit  there  recently.  It  is  a  historic  place,  particularly 
in  regard  to  matters  relating  to  the  civil  war,  for  it  was 
here  that  the  first  act  of  the  preliminaries  to  the  war 
was  perpetuated — John  Brown's  raid.  It  also  figured 
extensively  in  various  movements  during  the  war,  for 
the  reasons  before  described  of  its  being  such  an  impor- 
tant strategic  point. 

From  our  camp  we  could  look  down  and  take  a  bird's- 
eye  view  of  Harper's  Ferry.  None  of  the  immense  rail- 
road bridges  now  there  were  to  be  seen  in  those  days. 
There  had  been  a  railroad  bridge,  but  it  had  been  de- 
stroyed and  the  only  way  to  cross  was  on  a  pontoon 
bridge. 

A  pontoon  bridge  is  made  by  taking  a  lot  of  small 
scows  and  anchoring  them  at  regular  intervals  across 
the  river.  Then  stout  timbers  are  laid  from  one  boat  to 
the  other,  and  across  these  timbers  are  laid  heavy 
planks,  which  form  the  floor  of  the  bridge.  It  is  aston- 
ishing what  a  load  these  bridges  will  carry,  even  to 
quite  large  cannon  and  heavy  baggage  wagons.  The 
boats  are  carried  on  the  march  on  wheels  and  the  timber 
and  planking  on  wagons,  and  the  shortness  of  the  time 
required  to  make  a  bridge  across  the  river  is  wonderful. 
These  bridges  are  all  right  unless  the  anchors  slip. 
Then  there  is  trouble.  The  bridge  goes  to  pieces  in  an 
instant,  and  whatever  is  upon  it  is  precipitated  into  the 
water.     I  have  seen  this  more  than  once. 

Some  of  the  things  that  occurred  while  we  were  in 
camp  on  Maryland  Heights  I  shall  defer  till  another 
chapter. 


168  THE  YOTJNG   YOLUNTEEB.' 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE   "  PUP    TENT." 

We  had  been  in  the  service  just  four  weeks.  And 
what  an  exciting  month  it  had  been!  We  had  gone 
through  one  of  the  hardest  battles  of  the  war  up  to  that 
time,  had  participated  in  fatiguing  marches,  and  had 
practically  seen  as  much  service  in  those  respects  as 
some  regiments  that  had  been  enlisted  five  times  as 
long. 

And  yet  we  had  never  had  a  rest,  never  been  in  a  field 
camp,  hardly  ever  had  any  drilling.  We  had  seta  pace 
and  beaten  a  record,  for  there  was  not  another  regiment 
in  the  army  that  could  equal  this  hasty,  sudden  precipi- 
tation into  active  warfare. 

We  were  glad  enough  therefore  when  informed  that 
we  were  likely  to  remain  in  Camp  Maryland  Heights 
for  some  time,  and  that  we  might  proceed  to  make  our- 
selves comfortable.  As  a  matter  of  fact  we  remained 
there  till  the  27th  of  October,  which  is  quite  a  long 
time  for  an  army  at  a  time  of  the  year  when  the  war 
might  be  prosecuted. 

Of  course  we  did  not  know  how  long  or  how  short  a 
time  we  were  likely  to  remain  there  but  we  proceeded 
to  make  ourselves  as  comfortable  as  possible,  and  to  do 
so  was  no  easy  task.  We  had  no  tents  or  anything  else 
to  shelter  us.  Our  tents  had  been  left  at  Rockville,  to- 
gether with  our  knapsacks,  and  we  had  nothing  to  pro- 
tect us  from  the  weather  except  such  things  as  blankets, 
and  a  few  overcoats,  for  we  had  been  under  light  march- 
ing orders  since  we  left  Rockville.  The  old  soldiers 
had  "pup  tents,"  but  we  had  nothing.  So  we  under- 
took to  build  some  log  huts. 

It  was  a  long  distance  to  the  nearest  forest,  and  that 
made  it  a  difficult  job  to  get  the  necessary  timber  to  the 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  169 

camp.  Details  were  made  from  each  company  to  fell 
trees  and  bring  the  logs  to  camp,  but  that  was  a  slow 
process.  In  the  meantime  we  were  exposed  to  the 
weather. 

For  a  wonder,  ever  since  we  had  left  home  we  had 
had  clear  weather.  We  never  thought  of  its  being  any- 
thing else.  The  days  were  warm,  aud  the  nights  cool, 
as  they  usually  are  in  September,  but  it  had  remained 
clear.  So  when  an  old-fashioned  rainstorm  came  along 
it  introduced  us  to  a  new  misery. 

I  can't  imagine  a  more  doleful  state  of  affairs  than  a 
camp  in  a  rainstorm.  A  more  forlorn  set  than  Com- 
pany K  it  would  be  hard  to  imagine.  We  had  erected 
the  side  walls  of  our  little  log  cabins,  and  had  plastered, 
the  chinks  with  mud,  but  they  had  no  covering.  Some 
of  the  boys  had  utilized  their  rubber  blankets  for  this 
purpose,  but  the  most  of  us  had  foolishly  thrown  away 
our  "ponchos,"  as  they  were  called. 

So  we  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  mope  around  and  an- 
swer to  roll  call  and  cook  coffee  in  the  drenching  rain 
in  the  daytime,  and  sleep  on  the  bare  ground  exposed 
to  the  deluge  at  night.  Is  it  a  wonder  that  many  of  the 
boys  got  sick?  Is  it  a  wonder  that  many  of  them  never 
recovered  from  the  effects  of  such  exposure  even  after 
their  return  home  when  the  war  was  over?  I  was 
"bunking"  with  Heber  Wells,  and  it  was  at  Maryland 
Heights  that  he  received  a  box  from  home,  filled  with 
cakes,  fresh  homemade  bread  (fresh  when  it  left  home) 
and  potatoes  (something  we  did  not  get  in  the  army  very 
often) ;  on  the  top  of  it  all  some  fine  smoking  tobacco, 
which  was  a  great  improvement  over  the  "dried  chips" 
sold  by  the  sutlers.  ' 

Heber  and  I  used  that  box  as  a  cover  for  our  heads  in 
the  rain.  To  be  sure  the  rest  of  our  bodies  was  out- 
doors, drenched  to  the  skin,  but  onr  heads  and  faces 
were  protected  and  we  pitied  the  other  fellows  who  had 
no  nice  boxes  to  protect  themselves  with ! 

The  rain  lasted  several  days  and  I  do  not  think  there 
was  ever  more  suffering  and  discomfort  experienced  by 
a  body  of  soldiers  during  the  whole  course  of  the  war. 
The  consequences  was  that  half  the  regiment  was  on 
the  sick  list  from  the  exposure." 


V/0  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

To  add  to  the  discomfort,  everybody  was  affected  by 
the  water.  There  were  altogether  about  six  thousand 
troops  in  camp  on  Maryland  Heights,  and  they  all  had 
to  get  their  supply  of  water  from  a  single  spring.  This 
spring  was  located  at  the  bottom  of  a  precipitous  rock, 
and  the  water  was  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  looked  all 
right.     It  also  tasted  as  good  as  it  looked. 

But  it  seems  that  the  spring  water  was  strongly  im- 
pregnated with  magnesia,  or  something  of  the  sort,  and 
the  result  was  that  every  man  in  the  whole  camp  was 
affected.  The  reader  can  well  imagine  what  would  be 
the  result  for  a  man  to  drink  rochelle  salts  for  break- 
fast, dinner  and  supper!  Boiling  it  did  not  seem  to 
make  any  difference.  Some  of  the  boys  went  half  a 
mile  or  so  down  to  the  river  for  their  water,  but  that 
was  not  till  after  the  character  of  the  spring  had  been 
discovered. 

There  was  not  a  well  man  in  the  whole  brigade,  and 
the  deaths  were  so  numerous  that  it  was  scarcely  a  day 
that  one  did  not  see  three  or  four  funerals.  Only  one 
case  in  Company  K  resulted  fatally,  however — Martin 
V?  B.  Demarest.  I  was  one  of  the  pall  bearers  at  his 
funeral. 

The  coffins  in  which  soldiers  in  the  army  were  buried 
were  made  of  pieces  of  the  boards  from  the  cracker 
boxes,  nailed  together.  These  were  carried  by  poles 
being  tied  at  the  sides.  A  dead  soldier  wears  no  shroud. 
He  is  simply  dumped  into  the  box  in  his  everyday  uni- 
form, and  nailed  in.  In  the  time  of  battle  they  don't 
even  bother  with  the  boxes. 

The  company  is  mustered,  and  the  chaplain  says  a 
short  service  over  the  body.  Then  follows  the  parade 
to  the  grave,  the  lowest  in  rank  marching  first.  The 
music  is  with  the  fife  and  drum,  and  the  tune  is  always 
the  same,  the  solemn  Pleyal's hymn,  or  "Dead  Marc;  ," 
as  it  was  called.  At  the  grave  six  soldiers  each  Lie 
three  blank  cartridges  over  the  body,  and  it  is  buried. 
The  romains  are  lowered  and  covered,  and  a  piece  of 
board  from  a  cracker  box  or  a  barrel  stave  is  marked 
with  the  name  and  regiment  of  the  deceased.  Then  the 
mourners  march  back  to  camp  while  the  "band"  plays 
,the  liveliest  tune  in  its  limited  repertoire. 


THE  TO  UNO-   VOLUNTEER.  171 

As  John  Ick  romarked,  "Dey  blays  a  solemn  hym- 
tune  by  de  zemmytery,  un  den  ein  dance  tune  back,  all 
de  times." 

We  buried  Mart  Demarest  at  the  time  in  a  shallow 
grave  beside  the  camp,  but  his  body  was  afterward  re- 
moved to  the  National  Cemetery  at  Antietam,  where  it 
lies  in  a  long  row  in  Section  11. 

No  one  can  tell  the  sufferings  we  endured  at  Mary- 
land Heights,  until  the  arrival  of  our  "shelter"  tents,  or 
"pup"®tents,  as  the  boys  more  commonly  called  them. 
These  reached  the  camp  on  the  17th  of  October,  along 
with  an  extra  supply  of  blankets  and  clothing. 

Had  the  "pup"  tents  been  given  out  to  us  at  first,  im- 
mediately after  leaving  home,  we  should  have  regarded 
them  with  scorn.  But  after  the  exposures  we  had  suf- 
fered, they  seemed  veritable  palaces.  We  immediately 
proceeded  to  make  ourselves  comparatively  comfortable. 

A  "pup"  tent  consists  of  two  pieces  of  canton  flannel 
or  thick  muslin  about  six  feet  square.  On  one  side  is  a 
row  of  buttonholes,  and  on  the  other  side  there  are  but- 
tons. These  things  were  made  by  contract,  and  it  was 
seldom  that  the  location  of  the  buttons  corresponded 
with  the  buttonholes,  but  as  most  of  the  boys  were  pro- 
vided with  needles  and  thread  they  soon  overcame  that 
difficulty.  Each  soldier  carries  one  section  of  a  tent. 
When  they  go  into  camp  the  two  are  buttoned  together, 
making  a  piece  about  twelve  by  six  feet  square. 

Two  short  poles,  three  or  four  feet  high,  are  driven 
into  the  ground  about  six  feet  apart.  The  upright  poles 
must  have  forks  on  the  upper  end.  Across  these  is  laid 
a  horizontal  pole.  This  forms  the  apex  of  the  tent. 
The  sides  are  fastened  to  the  ground  by  pegs  whittled 
from  twigs.  This  makes  a  small  tent  the  shape  of  an 
inverted  "V"  with  nothing  at  either  end.  Generally 
the  soldier  carried  in  addition  to  the  piece  of  shelter 
tent,  a  rubber  blanket  and  a  woolen  one.  One  of  the 
rubber  blankets  served  as  one  end  of  the  tent.  The 
other  was  laid  on  the  ground,  and  covered  with  one  of 
the  woolen  blankets.  This  formed  the  bed.  The  other 
blanket  formed  the  "bedclothes,"  which  were  added  to 
by  a  spare  overcoat,  if  it  was  too  cold. 

This  tent  was  about  the  size  of  a  dog  house,  which 


172  TEE  TO  UNO   VOLUNTEER. 

perhaps  gave  it  the  name  of  "pup"  tent.  Of  course 
there  was  not  room  enough  in  them  to  stand  up,  or 
hardly  to  sit  up,  but  they  kept  off  the  rain  and  wind 
and  that  was  enough.  To  get  in  one  of  them  the  soldier 
had  to  get  down  on  his  hands  and  knees  and  crawl  in 
like  a  dog.  There  was  no  protection  to  the  lower  end  of 
the  tent  unless  one  of  the  soldiers  carried  an  extra  piece, 
which  was  sometimes  the  case. 

Don't  laugh  at  the  "pup"  tent.  It  was  one  of  the 
most  useful  things  ever  invented  for  the  comfort  of  the 
soldiers.  An  old  soldier  would  dispense  with  almost 
everything  else  before  he  threw  away  his  piece  of  shel- 
ter tent,  if  it  were  in  the  inclement  season  of  the  year. 
In  warm  weather  it  did  not  matter  so  much.  And  the 
idea  of  two  soldiers  always  bunking  together  probably 
begins  to  dawn  on  the  mind  of  the  reader. 

These  two  soldiers  were  always  called  partners,  or 
rather,  for  short,  "pards."  They  were  to  each  other  as 
husband  and  wife,  so  far  as  a  division  of  personal  and 
"domestic"  duties  were  concerned. 

But  I  will  defer  a  fuller  description  of  my  pard  till 
the  next  chapter. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  173 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
"my  pard." 

"MYpard!" 

What  a  host  of  recollections  that  expression  brings  to 
the  mind  of  every  old  soldier ! 

Nearly  every  soldier  in  the  army  had  his  "pard." 
When  the  boys  first  enlisted  the  gathering  into  couples 
was  a  process  of  natural  selection.  It  is  innate  in  the 
human  breast  to  have  a  chum.  The  Good  Book  says 
that  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  live  alone.  That  of  course 
referred  to  Adam  in  the  Garden  of  Eden,  and  meant 
that  our  original  grandfather  should  have  a  wife.  It 
would  have  been  extremely  inconvenient  for  the  soldiers 
to  be  accompanied  by  wives,  so  they  did  the  next  best 
thing — selected  a  "pard." 

No  one  ever  knows  how  this  is  done.  There  seems 
to  be  a  natural  affinity  that  draws  men  together.  It 
cannot  be  said  that  it  is  generally  on  account  of  a  simi- 
larity of  tastes,  for  experience  proves  that  men  who  are 
of  the  most  radically  opposite  character  get  along  best 
together.  The  selection  of  a  "pard"  came  at  the  first  as 
naturally  as  mating  of  birds  in  spring.  The  longer 
they  were  in  the  army  the  more  did  the  soldiers  appre- 
ciate the  convenience,  indeed  the  actual  necessity  of 
this  arrangement. 

It  frequently  happened  that  the  original  selection  was 
not  amicable,  and  there  was  a  change.  This  in  army 
parlance  was  called  a  "divorce."  But  these  changes 
were  not  frequent  after  there  had  once  been  a  satisfac- 
tory adjustment  of  relations.  Only  by  death  or  the 
absence  from  sickness  or  wounds  of  one  of  the  parties 
was  the  relationship  broken. 

The  two  soldiers  constituted  the  "families"  of  the 


174  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

army.  They  divided  the  numerous  little  duties  of  a 
personal  nature,  aside  from  the  regular  military  duties. 
They  pooled  their  rations,  took  turns  at  cooking  and 
other  things,  and  altogether  made  themselves  more 
comfortable  and  happy. 

On  stopping  for  the  night,  one  "pard"  would  hasten 
for  the  nearest  rail  fence  or  to  the  woods  for  twigs  to 
make  a  fire,  while  the  other  would  grab  two  canteens 
and  go  for  water;  sometimes  this  necessitated  a  trip  of 
a  mile,  for  the  flanks  of  the  army  might  be  a  long  dis- 
tance from  the  stream  that  had  determined  the  camping 
place.  One  of  the  "pards"  would  then  take  a  short  trip 
out  into  the  country  to  see  if  he  couldn't  "confisticate" 
a  chicken  or  a  stray  pig,  or  even  participate  in  the  pur- 
loining of  a  calf.  Not  infrequently  was  a  rabbit  raised. 
If  there  was  a  granary  or  a  potato  mound  handy,  it 
afforded  a  valuable  contribution  to  the  larder. 

More  than  once  these  foragers  came  back  with  bird 
shot  in  their  epidermis,  which  came  from  the  guns  of 
the  irate  grangers.  I  have  felt  the  sting  of  small  bird 
shot  on  more  than  one  occasion.  But  the  soldier  did 
not  mind  a  little  thing  like  that.  No  matter  what  hap- 
pened he  would  not  let  go  of  his  "rations,"  if  he  had 
been  successful  in  getting  anything.  One  of  the  cheek- 
iest things  I  remember  doing  was  to  steal  a  chicken 
from  a  hen  roost,  and  j;then  go  to  the  house  and  borrow 
an  iron  pot  to  cook  the  chicken  in  and  make  a  fricasse. 

And  while  one  of  the  "pards"  was  putting  up  the 
"pup"  tent  the  other  would  cook  the  supper.  They  be- 
fore long  become  good  cooks  too,  and  could  make  a 
variety  of  dishes  out  of  their  limited  supply  that  would 
surprise  a  professional  chef. 

Sometimes  one  of  the  "pards"  was  sick  and  tired  out 
at  the  end  of  a  day's  march,  while  the  other  was  com- 
paratively fresh.  Then  the  better  one  would  care  for 
his  "pard"  as  if  he  were  a  brother,  and  do  all  the  work. 
They  stood  by  each  other  in  sickness  or  trouble.  They 
shared  with  each  other  the'joys  that  came  from  surrepti- 
tious foraging,  whether  it  be  on  some  neighboring  farm, 
or  from  the  sutler's  tent. 

At  night  they  shared  each  other's  blankets.  Thus 
they  kept  warm.     Soldiers  always  slept,  whether  in  a 


A   YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  175 

"bunk"  in  winter  quarters,  or  alongside  a  fire  on  the 
march,  in  that  peculiar  shape  called  "spoon  fashion." 
The  reader  will  understand  what  that  means.  It  was 
a  convenient  and  practical  arrangement  except  when 
one  of  the  fellows  desired  to  turn  over  on  the  other  side. 
The  other  had  to  get  around  at  the  same  time. 

When  in  the  stillness  of  the  night  you  heard  some  one 
shout  out : 

"Attention — 'bout — face!"  you  knew  that  it  meant 
that  the  two  "pards"  were  about  to  turn  over  on  their 
other  sides  to  ease  their  positions.  To  keep  warm  in 
cold  weather  they  snuggled  and  hugged  each  other  in 
the  most  affectionate  manner,  and  it  was  only  the  direst 
necessity  that  induced  them  to  change  their  position  if 
they  once  got  comfortable. 

There  were  few  men  who  did  not  have  their  "pards." 
If  a  soldier  had  a  foghorn  voice  when  he  snored,  it  was 
considered  a  legitimate  cause  for  "divorce."  If  one  of 
the  "pards"  was  less  cleanly  in  his  habits  than  the  other, 
a  bill  of  separation  was  in  order.  The  "statutory 
grounds"  from  a  soldier's  point  of  view,  was  a  chronic 
disposition  to  play  off  and  shirk  in  the  performance  of  a 
due  share  of  duty.  That  was  an  unpardonable  sin.  If 
a  soldier  obtained  the  reputation  of  being  a  shirk  in  this 
respect,  no  matter  how  good  he  might  be  otherwise,  he 
was  doomed  to  live  and  sleep  alone,  with  all  its  discom- 
forts. 

I  was  fortunate  in  the  selection  of  my  "pards."  The 
first,  as  before  stated,  was  Orderly  Sergeant  Heber 
Wells.  He  was  the  same  dignified  gentleman  that  he  is 
now,  a  man  of  the  highest  instincts  and  most  upright 
moral  character,  who  never  knew  how  to  do  a  mean  or 
dishonorable  act.  But  Heber  was  the  "orderly,"  and 
that  meant  no  end  of  work.  He  had  to  attend  to  all  the 
roll  calls,  make  out  the  reports  and  be  in  constant  com- 
munication with  the  captain  or  other  commanding  officer 
in  regard  to  the  different  duty  details.  That  kept  him 
busy.  B3'  common  consent  the  orderly  sergeant  is 
exempt  from  the  ordinary  menial  service  of  camp  life. 
So  the  most  of  the  duties  of  a  personal  or  domestic 
nature  while  he  was  "my  pa?d"  naturally  fell  upon  me. 

Heber,  however,  was  not  "my  pard'    yery  long,  for 


176  A    YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

he  was  soon  appointed  to  the  position  of  second  lieuten- 
ant of  Company  K.  That  meant  his  removal  from  the 
ranks  to  the  officers'  tent,  and  a  separation  between  us 
socially.  The  social  distinction  between  a  soldier  and 
a  commissioned  officer  is  very  great.  The  man  with 
the  commission  belongs  to  the  four  hundred  of  the  army, 
while  the  private  is  the  workingman.  If  it  were  other- 
wise it  would  be  detrimental  to  discipline,  for  there  is 
no  greater  truism  than  "familiarity  breeds  contempt." 
A  servant  or  employee  has  comparatively  little  respect 
for  the  master  or  employer  who  makes  himself  familiar. 
The  high-headedness  of  officers  in  the  army  is  galling  at 
times,  but  it  is  necessary  for  discipline,  and  no  amount 
of  philosophizing  can  change  this  fact. 

My  real  "pard"  was  John  Butterworth.  John  was 
an  old  employee  of  Daggers  &  Row,  the  bobbin  turners. 
He  told  me  all  about  wood  turning,  and  I  told  him  all 
about  the  printing  business.  He  was  married  and  wor- 
ried a  good  deal  about  his  wife,  which  was  a  pain  that 
I  had  not  to  undergo.  John  was  not  an  educated  man, 
but  he  was  possessed  of  an  extraordinary  degree  of 
sound  common  sense.  He  knew  how  to  cook  every- 
thing that  could  be  made  of  pork  and  beans  and  hard- 
tack. The  only  thing  in  which  John  was  lacking  was 
in  card-playing.  I  taught  him  how  to  play  a  fair  game 
of  High-Low-Jack  with  the  greasy  old  pack  of  cards  we 
had,  but  could  never  teach  him  the  mysteries  of  poker. 
He  conscientiously  sent  home  every  cent  of  his  pay  that 
had  not  been  mortgaged  to  the  sutler,  while  I  had  no 
one  depending  on  me  and  so  liked  to  indulge  in  the  elu- 
sive pleasures  of  "draw."  I  found  plenty  of  other  fel- 
lows in  the  company,  however,  who  could  relieve  me  of 
my  surplus  cash,  after  a  visit  from  the  paymaster,  with 
neatness  and  dispatch,  and  even  go  so  far  as  to  mort- 
gage future  months'  income.  When  credit  in  that  di- 
rection was  exhausted,  blankets,  overcoats  and  other 
goods  and  chattels  went  the  way  of  all  flesh  frequently 
in  consequence  of  overconfidence  in  the  security  of  three 
nines  or  a  five  high  full  house. 

But  other  than  in  card-playing  John  Butterworth  was 
an  ideal  "pard."  I  ne^?r  heard  him  "kick"  over  the 
performance  of  a  duty.    X  think  I  sometimes  took  ad 


.i 


A    TO  UNO    VOLUNTEER.  177 

vantage  of  his  perennial  good  nature,  now  that  I  come 
to  look  back  to  those  times.  He  would  take  the  can- 
teens and  walk  a  mile  for  a  supply  of  water,  without  a 
word  of  protest.  He  would  gather  twigs  and  branches 
for  bedding,  raid  a  rail  fence  afar  off  or  do  any  other 
duty  asked,  without  a  word  of  complaint. 

And  he  was  always  good  natured.  I  never  saw  his 
temper  ruffled.  He  was  a  good  soldier  in  every  respect, 
always  ready  to  perform  his  duty  with  the  minimum  of 
"kicking,"  whether  it  were  a  battalion  drill,  a  battle,  a 
long  march  or  a  turn  at  picket.  And  when  he  had  after 
a  day's  hard  work  succeeded  in  getting  a  few  cedar 
boughs  on  a  row  of  poles  on  the  ground  for  a  mattress, 
he  would  pull  the  blanket  up  to  his  chin  and  say : 

"Oh,  I  tell  you,  Joe,  but  isn't  this  solid  comfort? 
There's  many  a  poor  fellow  in  the  world  who  hasn't  such 
a  nice  comfortable  bed  as  this,  eh?" 

I  agreed,  but  I  frequently  did  so  with  the  mental 
reservation  that  no  one  but  a  veritable  Mark  Tapley 
could  extract  comfort  and  pleasure  from  such  condi- 
tions. 

I  shall  ever  remember  "my  pard"  John  Butterworth 
with  feelings  of  satisfaction  and  pleasure,  for  he  was  a 
good,  true  friend,  and  there  were  not  many  men  in  the 
army  so  well  favored  as  I  was  in  the  selection  of  a 
"pard." 

Some  of  the  other  fellows  were  not  so  fortunate. 
There  were  continual  quarrelings  and  bickerings  and 
even  fights  as  to  who  should  do  this  and  who  that.  But 
I  think  the  most  comical  thing  of  all  was  that  Jonn  Ick 
and  Beddy  Mahar  should  have  been  thrown  together 
as  "pards." 

Such,  however,  was  the  case.  It  would  have  been 
difficult  to  get  two  more  incongruous  characters  together. 
One  was  German  and  the  other  Irish,  and  they  were 
always  quarreling.  They  were  unlike  in  everything 
imaginable.  Yet  by  some  strange  fate  things  hap- 
pened so  that  they  should  bunk  together. 

I  remember  on  the  occasion  of  the  first  night  we  had 
our  "pup"  tents.     My  "tent"  was  next  to  theirs. 

"Dot  vas  a  devil  uv  a  ting,"  said  Ick.  "How  was  a 
fellow  to  get  dot  ting  on  the  outside,  alretty?" 


178  A   YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

"Oh,  shut  your  blarney  trap,"  answered  Reddy. 
"Wait  awhile  till  we  get  the  hang  o'  this  consarn. 
You  see  here  are  some  holes — ■ — " 

"Und  here  be  de  buttonholes,  by  jimminey." 

"We  will  button  thim  together,  that  we  will,  be 
gorra." 

"We  vill  dot,  ri-et  away." 

They  buttoned  the  two  sheets  of  the  "pup"  tent  to- 
gether and  spread  it  out  on  the  ground. 

"That  is  the  sheet,  begovra,"  said  Reddy.  Where- 
upon he  spread  it  out  and  rolled  himself  up  into  it. 

After  some  altercation  between  the  two  as  to  the  way 
to  fix  it,  some  of  the  other  fellows  showed  them  how  to 
make  a  tent  of  the  "sheet."  When  it  was  completed 
the  two  got  on  their  hands  and  knees  and  crawled  in.  I 
never  knew  what  started  the  trouble,  but  in  a  moment 
everybody  in  that  part  of  the  camp  was  attracted  by  the 
bellicose  talking  between  Ick  and  Mahar,  and  pretty 
soon  the}7  became  involved  in  a  regular  rough-and-tum- 
ble fight. 

Now  there  isn't  much  room  in  a  "pup"  tent  to  carry 
on  a  fight  according  to  the  rules  of  the  Marquis  of 
Queensberry,  or  any  other  British  nobleman.  The  fight- 
ers rolled  over  to  the  side  of  the  little  tent,  and  pulled  it 
from  its  fastenings.  The  tent  was  on  the  side  of  a  hill, 
and  they  naturally  rolled  downward.  The  further  they 
rolled  the  closer  were  they  wrapped  in  the  folds  of  the 
"pup"  tent,  and  they  went  down  that  hill  as  if  they 
were  done  up  in  a  muslin  bundle,  fightiDg  and  snarling 
as  they  went  like  a  couple  of  cats  in  a  bag. 

It  was  one  of  the  most  comical  sights  I  ever  saw. 
The  tent  was  torn  to  tatters.  But  John  Ick  and  Reddy 
Mahar  didn't  want  any  tent  that  night.  They  slept  in 
the  guardhouse. 

I  also  lost  my  tent  that  same  night,  but  in  an  entirely 
different  way,  although  fully  as  comical. 


A   YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  179 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE   ARMY   MULE. 

Before  I  pioceed  to  tell  how  I  lost  my  "pup"  tent 
that  night,  let  me  introduce  the  reader  to  the  army 
mule. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  whole  army  that  filled  such 
an  important  and  unique  place  in  the  prosecution  of  the 
war  as  the  meek  and  docile  mule.  I  use  these  adjec- 
tives with  an  unlimited  degree  of  mental  reservation. 
Appearances  are  often  deceiving.  There  is  nothing 
more  plainly  written  in  nature  than  the  sign  of  meek- 
ness and  docility  emhossed  on  the  placid  countenance  of 
the  mule. 

But  woe  be  to  him  who  places  faith  in  the  meek  and 
innocent  appearances  of  the  army  mule.  Somewhere 
in  the  interior  of  the  mule  there  lurks  a  latent  energy, 
a  pent-up  supply  of  total  depravity  that  would  do  credit 
to  the  arch  enemy  of  mankind.  No  doubt  the  original 
delineator  of  Satan  had  been  a  victim  of  misplaced  con- 
fidence in  the  hind  legs  of  a  mule,  for  otherwise  what 
would  have  suggested  the  adoption  of  hoofs  as  the  ortho- 
dox representation  of  the  devil's  feet?  If  the  aforesaid 
original  artist  had  put  a  paint  brush  on  the  end  of 
Satan's  tail,  instead  of  an  arrow  head,  there  would  have 
been  no  room  for  doubt  as  to  where  he  got  his  model. 

Horses  were  never  used  in  the  army  except  by  the 
mounted  officers  and  soldiers.  The  motive  power  of  all 
warlike  rolling-stock  was  the  mule.  The  teams  con- 
sisted of  from  six  to  ten  mules,  according  to  the  depth 
of  the  mud.  They  were  driven  by  one  line,  the  same  as 
they  are  driven  now  through  the  South.  The  driver 
does  not  sit  on  the  wagon,  but  in  a  saddle  on  the  wheel 
mule  on  the  near  side. 


180  A   YOUNG  VOLUNTEER. 

I  tried  once  to  drive  a  mule  team,  but  only  succeeded 
in  getting  them  into  inextricable  confusion.  How  a 
driver  guides  the  team  to  the  right  or  to  the  left  as  he 
desires,  with  only  one  rein,  is  a  mystery  in  equestrian 
dynamics  that  I  could  never  comprehend.  The  rein  and 
the  long-lashed  whip  had  their  uses  to  be  sure,  but  they 
were  insignificant  factors  in  the  art  of  driving  a  mule 
team. 

The  secret  of  this  science  lay  entirely  in  the  language 
used  by  the  driver,  or  'iteamster"  as  he  was  called  in 
the  army.  In  order  to  keep  a  mule  team  in  motion  it  is 
necessary  to  carry  a  continual  conversation.  A  man 
with  a  weak  pair  of  lungs  could  never  drive  a  team  of 
army  mules.  Neither  could  a  strict  church  member. 
The  nature  of  the  conversation  is  altogether  inconsistent 
with  orthodoxy.  I  have  heard  of  men  who  were  good 
and  pious,  and  refined  and  discreet  in  their  language, 
being  appointed  to  the  position  of  mule  drivers.  In 
such  cases  one  of  two  things  happens.  Either  the  afore- 
said teamster  resigned  his  position,  or  else  he  fell  from 
grace  to  a  depth  of  hopeless  depravity  that  completely 
ruined  all  hopes  of  future  happiness. 

I  cannot  describe  the  language  a  successful  mule 
driver  used  to  make  his  team  start,  and  keep  them  going 
after  they  had  once  started.  It  would  be  entirely  in- 
consistent with  a  work  designed  for  general  distribu- 
tion. Besides,  it  would  likely  break  down  the  press  on 
which  it  was  printed.  Keeping  within  the  confines  of 
conservative  respectability,  I  will  merely  remark  that 
when  the  teamster  wants  to  start  the  team,  he  grasps 
the  blacksnake  whip  in  his  right  hand  and  the  single 
rein  in  his  left,  gives  the  former  a  snap  and  the  latter  a 
jerk  and  opens  the  conversation : 

"Now,  then,  you !    Git  up  there,  you 

why  don't  you  pull? f    *******! 1 

! ! ■ !    Gee Haw !" 

Looking  toward  the  noise  you  see  a  cloud  of  blue 
smoke  arising  and  the  air  is  filled  with  a  suffocating 
odor  of  sulphur.     Then  you  are  conscious  of  a  move 
ment. 


A    YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  181 

"  She  starts,  she  moves.     She  seems  to  feel 
The  thrill  of  lif  e  along  her  keel !  " 

The  long  mule  team  with  its  cumbersome,  canvas- 
hooded  baggage  wagon  has  started.  But  don't  let  the 
innocent  reader  imagine  that  the  torrent  of  vocal  sounds 
ceases  with  the  beginning  of  motion  on  the  part  of  the 
team.  No,  indeed !  The  teamster  must  keep  right  on. 
The  moment  he  stops  the  team  stops.  The  yelling  is  a 
part  of  the  mechanism  of  the  motive  power  of  the  estab- 
lishment. It  is  the  supply  of  steam  that  actuates  the 
valves  and  pistons  of  the  long-eared,  brush-tailed,  four- 
footed  locomotives.  Thus  it  was  that  when  night  came, 
and  the  other  soldiers  were  tired  and  fatigued  in  their 
limbs,  the  teamsters  were  played  out  in  the  muscles 
that  move  the  vocal  chords,  the  lips,  and  the  bellows 
apparatus  of  the  lungs. 

When  night  came,  the  mule  took  up  the  refrain 
where  it  was  dropped  by  the  teamster  and  generally 
kept  it  up  till  daylight.  The  reader  has  probably  heard 
the  peculiar  music  rendered  by  the  mule.  It  is  hard  to 
express  it  in  type,  but  it  is  something  like  this : 

"Onk-a!  onk-a!  onk-a!  onk-a!" 

The  tone  is  a  mezzo-soprano,  alto,  falsetto,  basso  com- 
bination, something  like  a  bazoo.  The  exact  intonation 
can  only  be  given  by  a  man  in  the  last  stages  of  diph- 
theria. I  have  heard  some  singers  who  could  sing  as 
well  as  a  mule — but  not  many. 

Such  is  the  natural  music  of  the  individual  mule. 
Now  the  average  army  mule  never  took  much  stock  in 
solos.  When  one  began  his  bazoo,  another  answered, 
and  a  third  chimed  in,  till  at  last  there  was  a  chorus  of 
mule  music.  Other  mules  in  other  parts  of  the  army 
would  join  the  refrain,  till  a  cloud  of  discordant  mule 
song  arose  to  the  ambient  heavens  and  mingled  with  the 
twinkling  stars.     (That's  pretty  bad,  but  I'll  let  it  go.) 

The  soldiers  soon  got  used  to  imitating  tho  music  of 
the  mule  with  marvelous  accuracy.  In  fact  at  times  it 
was  almost  impossible  to  distinguish  between  the  gen- 
uine article  and  the  counterfeit.  A  mulo  would  begin 
with  his  indescribable  "Onk-a,  onk-a,"  and  some  camp 
wag  would  follow  it  up.  Other  mules  (the  four- legged 
ones,  I  mean)  would  join  in  the  refrain,  and  so  it  would, 


182  A    YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

go,  till  the  entire  body,  mules  and  men,  would  send 
forth  a  grand  chorus  that  was  limited  only  by  the  utter- 
most confines  of  the  army. 

The  mule  choruses  were  indescribably  comical,  and 
sometimes  disastrous,  as  they  would  discover  the  where- 
abouts of  the  army  to  the  enemy  under  circumstances 
that  were  unpleasant.  I  have  known  one  man  to  start 
up  the  mule  chorus  on  a  quiet  night  till  it  involved 
every  brigade,  division  and  corps  within  twenty  miles. 

There  was  no  accounting  for  the  vagaries  of  the  army 
mules.  Sometimes  they  would  be  quietly  crunching 
their  fodder,  when  suddenly,  without  the  least  excuse 
or  provocation,  they  would  stampede.  They  did  not 
care  what  direction  they  took.  One  would  think  after 
a  hard  day's  work  they  would  take  advantage  of  the 
opportunity  to  get  a  little  rest.  But  a  mule  is  never 
really  tired.  At  least  no  matter  what  may  have  been 
the  work  of  the  day  there  is  a  reserve  force  equal  to  any 
possible  or  impossible  extra  emergency.  And  when  the 
mules  got  loose  and  stampeded  there  was  nothing  to 
stop  them  except  their  own  sweet  and  angelic  will. 

I  remember  on  one  occasion  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  we  were  suddenly  aroused  from  our  sleep  and  ran 
for  our  lives  under  the  idea  that  the  enemy's  cavalry 
had  made  a  charge  upon  us,  when  it  was  nothing  but 
the  mules  stampeding  from  a  neighboring  brigade. 
This  same  thing  occurred  many  times,  in  different  parts 
of  the  army,  during  the  course  of  the  war. 

There  is  no  dependence  on  the  friendship  of  the  hind- 
leg  of  a  mule.  It  may  rest  in  quiescence  for  months, 
but  finally,  like  a  long  smouldering  volcano,  it  will 
break  forth  without  any  preliminar}-  rumbling.  It  is 
no  respecter  of  persons  or  rank,  that  hind-leg  of  the 
nrnile.  The  man  who  had  carefully  and  faithfully  stood 
by  the  mule  in  sickness  and  distress,  in  hunger  and 
thirst,  in  the  camp  and  on  the  march,  after  having  been 
left  unmolested  so  long  that  a  feeling  of  confidence  had 
been  created,  was  often  made  the  victim  of  the  irrespon- 
sible viciousness  of  the  hind-leg.  No,never~put  your  trust 
in  the  hind -leg  of  a  mule,  no  matter  how  innocent  it 
may  look. 

In  other  respects  is  a  mule  deceptive.     His  eye  ia 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEEB.  183 

gentle  and  bland,  but  don't  trust  it.  The  more  gentle 
and  bland,  the  more  perfect  the  mask  over  the  hidden 
stock  of  total  depravity  lurking  within  that  silent  but 
busy  brain. 

With  a  horse  you  can  tell  something  about  his  inten- 
tions by  the  position  of  the  ears.  Ears  slanted  forward 
indicate  alarm  or  extra  watchfulness.  Ears  laid  behind 
flat  on  the  head  indicate  viciousness.  A  state  of  equine 
placidity  is  manifested  by  quiescent  ears  hanging 
loosely  at  the  sides  of  his  head.  But  not  so  with  a 
mule.  His  ears  generally  hang  senselessly  beside  his 
head.  They  are  too  heavjT  to  move  around  to  express 
emotion.  So  the  driver  cannot  take  warning  of  the 
feelings  of  the  mule  or  his  possible  intentions  for  good 
or  evil  at  any  particular  moment  from  his  ears. 

I  doubt  if  the  reader  ever  saw  a  dead  mule.  As 
many  thousands  as  I  ever  saw  alive,  1  can't  remember 
more  than  half  a  dozen  dead  ones.  They  did  not  often 
get  near  enough  to  the  front  in  the  ordinary  course  of 
the  war  to  be  shot  in  battle,  and  they  seemed  impervious 
to  all  the  usual  influences  of  climate  or  condition.  The 
only  thing  that  ever  kills  a  mule  is  not  a  physical  ail- 
ment, but  mental  trouble. 

I  give  this  statement  after  full  consideration  of  the 
gravity  of  the  assertion,  and  reiterate  that  the  main 
cause  for  fatality  among  mule  folks  is  mental  worri- 
ment — in  other  words,  discouragement.  When  a  mule 
for  any  cause  becomes  discouraged,  his  sphere  of  useful- 
ness in  this  world  has  forever  ended.  He  simply  lies 
down,  and  without  any  unnecessary  nonsense  or  fuss, 
quietly  yields  up  the  ghost.  I  never  saw  but  one  mule 
die.  He  tried  in  vain  and  faithfully  to  help  pull  a 
wagon  out  of  the  mire,  but  when  he  found  that  the  task 
was  impossible,  he  gently  laid  himself  down  and  died. 

Ask  any  old  army  teamster  if  he  ever  knew  a  mule 
to  die  from  any  other  cause  than  sheer  discouragement. 

A  word  of  sympathy  and  justice  is  due  to  the  mule. 
All  through  his  life  he  labors  under  the  pain  and  disad- 
vantage of  a  questionable  ancestry.  No  matter  how 
otherwise  bright  the  surrounding  circumstances  may 
be,  the  mule  always  has  within  his  breast  the  knowl- 
edge that  he  is  an  illegitimate  offspring.    While  horses 


184  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  ~~  . 

hold  their  heads  high  in  the  knowledge  of  a  noble  an- 
cestry, the  poor  mule  hangs  his  head  in  shame  because 
his  genealogical  tree  extends  back  only  one  generation ; 
and  in  addition  to  that,  the  possibilities  of  future  blood 
relations  to  honor  his  memory  are  so  remote  that  it 
must  forever  be  the  source  of  carking  care  and  mental 
pain.  These  things  may  possibly  account  for  many  of 
the  vagaries  of  the  mule  that  might  otherwise  be  inex- 
plicable. 

The  appetite  of  the  mule  is  insatiable  and  omnivorous. 
His  digestion  is  an  object  of  envy  on  the  part  of  many 
a  two-legged  dyspeptic.  To  the  mule  antediluvian  hard- 
tack crackers  are  but  as  mush.  Like  the  Manhattan- 
ville  goat  ho  can  digest  anything  short  of  coal  scuttles. 
Old  blankets,  haversacks,  newspapers,  and  leather  belts 
form  a  sumptuous  dessert  for  the  mule ;  and  instead  of 
nuts  at  the  end  of  a  banquet,  he  would  any  day  prefer 
the  ridgepole  of  a  tent. 

And  that  brings  me  back  to  the  introduction  of  this 
chapter. 

Heber  Wells  had  received  a  box  from  home,  as  be- 
fore described.  It  looked  like  rain  one  night  and  he 
suggested  that  he  keep  the  box  under  cover  so  that  the 
rain  would  not  spoil  the  remainder  of  the  contents.  I 
vacated,  aud  bunked  that  night  with  Hank  Van  Orden. 
In  the  middle  of  the  night  I  was  awakened  by  the  rain- 
drops falling  in  my  face,  which  I  thought  was  strange, 
as  I  had  gone  to  sleep  fully  protected  b}^  the  "pup"  tent. 

Getting  up  I  was  surprised  to  find  I  was  outdoors. 
The  "pup"  tent  had  entirely  disappeared  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  small  end  of  one  of  the  white  sheets. 

This  was  sticking  out  of  the  month  of  a  mule ! 

The  mule  had  eaten  up  our  "pup"  tent. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER,  185 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

GENERAL  M'CLELLAN  AND  I. 

Yes,  it  was  a  fact.     The  mule  had  eaten  up  our  tent. 

This  was  not  an  infrequent  occurrence,  for  as  said  be- 
fore, an  army  mule  liked  a  "pup"  tent  as  well  as  a 
Harlem  goat  does  a  tomato  can  or  a  flesh-colored  living 
picture  on  a  three-sheet  poster.  But  it  was  something 
entirely  new  to  us,  and  we  marveled  greatly. 

The  worst  of  it  all  was,  Hank  Van  Orden  and  I  were 
out  of  a  tent.  We  were  outside  in  the  cold,  and  the 
tent  was  inside  the  mule.  It  did  not  call  for  a  mo- 
ment's reflection  to  know  that  the  further  usefulness  of 
that  particular  tent,  so  far  as  we  were  concerned,  was 
at  an  end.  What  use  it  might  have  been  to  the  diges- 
tive apparatus  of  the  mule  is  another  thing. 

So  we  consulted  Orderly  Sergeant  Wells,  and  he  ad- 
vised us  to  consult  the  captain,  or  rather  the  acting  cap- 
tain, Lieutenant  Scott.  The  latter  made  out  a  requisi- 
tion on  the  quartermaster  for  the  respective  two  sections 
of  "one  shelter  tent."  We  went  to  the  quartermaster, 
but  he  had  run  out  of  a  supply  of  tents,  and  he  made  a 
requisition  on  the  brigade  quartermaster  and  handed  it 
to  us.  The  brigade  quartermaster  sent  us  to  the  divi- 
sion quartermaster  and  the  latter  sent  us  to  the  corps 
quartermaster — all  for  one  "pup"  tent! 

When  we  got  to  corps  headquarters,  we  were  kept 
waiting  a  long  time  for  the  convenience  of  the  high  and 
mighty  official  who  had  charge  of  the  government 
clothing  and  tailorshop  for  that  particular  branch  of  the 
army.  There  were  a  lot  of  other  fellows  from  other 
regiments  waiting  their  turns  for  various  articles  for 
which  requisitions  had  been  made. 

One  of  the  men  was  a  soldier  from  our  own  brigade, 


180  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

a  member  of  the  Twenty-seventh  Indiana.  "We  got 
talking  together  and  among  other  things  we  told  him 
about  the  mule  eating  up  the  "pup"  tent. 

"Oh,  that's  nuthin',"  said  he.  "Them  air  mewels 
are  a  curus  critter,  them  are.  Givvum  a  chance,  'n 
they'll  eat  a  hull  muskit,  bayonet  'n  all.  But  the 
funniest  thing  of  'em  all  is  to  see  'em  shoot  a  cannon 
from  atop  a  mewel's  back." 

"What!"  I  interrupted;  "shoot  a  cannon  from  a 
mule's  back?    What  are  you  giving  us?" 

"That  are  the  dead  shure  fac',"  was  the  Hoosier's 
reply.  "I've  seen  it  done  many  a  time.  They  jis' 
strap  the  cannon — a  howster  (howitzer)  is  what  they 
call  'em — on  the  mewel's  back.  They  load  the  guns 
up,  turns  the  head  o'  the  mewel  to  the  Johnny  Rebs, 
and  pulls  the  string." 

"And  shoot  the  cannon  from  the  mule's  back?"  I 
asked  iacreduously. 

"Shure's  you're  livin'.  The  muzzle  of  the  cannon 
are  p'inted  to'ards  the  head  o'  the  mewel,  and  when  the 
gunner  gits  ready  for  to  shoot,  the  mewel  he  hangs 
down  his  head,  ye  know,  and  stretches  out  his  four  legs 
to  the  four  p'ints  o'  the  compiass,  like  the  legs  o'  a  saw- 
back,  ye  know.  That  gives  the  mewel  a  solid  footin', 
d'ye  see,  so  that  the  shootin'  o'  the  cannon  can't  knock 
the  mewel  over." 

"How  do  they  teach  the  mule  to  hold  his  legs  that 
way?"  I  asked,  "seeing  the  mule  is  such  a  stuDid 
beast." 

"They  don't  teach  him  nothin'.  He  hes  sense  enough 
to  l'ara  himself.  The  fust  time  the  cannon  are  shot 
from  the  back  o'  the  mewel,  it  jist  knocks  the  mewel 
clean  over.  He  luks  around  kind  o'  scared  like,  a  won- 
derin'  if  that  air  cyclone  struck  any  one  else.  Then  he 
tries  to  shake  off  the  cannon  When  the  mewel  finds 
that  the  cannon  are  a  tight  hold  on  his  back,  he  gits  up 
and  kind  o'  concludes,  cYye  know,  that  there  have  been 
some  sort  of  a  mistake  like.  The  secon'  time  he 
reckons,  d'3re  know,  that  there  ain't  bin  no  mistake. 
And  the  third  time,  he  squars  off  his  four  huffs." 

"And  don't  get  knocked  over,  oh?"  I  asked. 

"That's  whare  ye're  right,  parcl.     And  you  oughter 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  18? 

see  the  'spresshun  on  the  mewel's  eyes  just  then.  He 
don't  say  nothin'  but  he  jist  looks  as  how  he  were  say- 
ing to  himself,  'Golly,  but  I  fooled  'em  that  time  for 
shure.'  After  that,  every  time  the  mewel  hes  sense 
enough  for  to  stretch  out  his  four  legs  and  brace  himself 
for  the  kick  o'  the  gun.  It  are  a  queer  sight  I  kin  tell 
you,  pard,  but  it  air  as  true  as  the  gospil,  as  you'll  see 
for  yourself,  afore  you  are  long  in  the  sarvice.  But 
come,  here's  a  chance  for  to  get  our  accuterments. " 

Strange  as  this  may  seem,  the  story  given  us  b}T  the 
veteran  from  the  Twenty-seventh  Indiana  was  literally 
true.  Small  cannon  were  strapped  to  the  backs  of  the 
mules  and  actually  fired  therefrom,  and  the  conduct  of 
the  mule  on  such  occasions  was  just  as  described. 
These  mule  guns  were  called  "mountain  howitzers," 
and  fired  a  shot  of  perhaps  three  pounds.  Old  soldiers 
have  told  me  that  the  mules  got  so  used  to  it  that  they 
did  not  stop  nibbling  at  the  twigs  while  the  cannon  was 
being  shot  from  their  backs ! 

Afterward  I  many  a  time  saw  a  mule  trudging  along 
with  a  cannon  strapped  on  his  back,  but  I  cannot  say 
that  I  ever  saw  any  of  the  shots  fired.  The  cannon  that 
I  saw  shot  off  were  always  on  wheels.  But  these  mule 
guns  comprised  quite  an  important  adjunct  to  the  army, 
and  many  a  time,  as  said  before,  I  have  seen  the  ani- 
mals clambering  over  the  mountains  thus  equipped.  It 
is  a  somewhat  singular  thing  that  I  never  saw  any 
mention  of  this  fact  in  any  of  the  war  books  that  I  ever 
read,  and  doubtless  the  statement  even  now  will  be  met 
with  incredulity  on  the  part  of  some  readers.  But 
nevertheless  I  can  assure  them  that  it  is  absolutely  true. 

After  the  usual  delay  and  expenditure  of  red  tape, 
Hank  Van  Orden  and  I  got  our  new  "pup"  tents  and 
made  our  way  back  to  the  regiment,  arriving  there  just 
in  time  to  be  detailed  to  go  on  picket. 

I  had  never  been  on  picket.  I  had  been  on  guard, 
both  around  the  camp  and  to  guard  wagons  and  cattle, 
but  this  was  the  first  time  I  had  been  assigned  to  the 
dignity  of  a  picket. 

The  picket  is  "mounted"  in  about  the  same  manner 
as  the  ordinary  guards,  and  a  guard  mount  was  some- 
what imperfectly  described  in  one  of  the  opening  chap- 


188  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

ters  of  this  story.  In  ordinary  guard  duty,  the  head- 
quarters of  the  guard  is  a  "guard  house."  In  picket 
duty  it  is  a  little  different. 

The  officer  of  the  guard  has  charge  of  a  certain  num- 
ber of  men  on  picket  duty.  The  men  are  divided  up 
into  squads  under  charge  of  sergeants.  Each  squad  is 
composed  of  three  times  as  many  privates  as  there  are 
posts  to  guard,  and  three  corporals.  The  privates  stand 
on  their  posts  two  hours,  and  then  have  four  hours' 
rest.  "Two  on  the  four  off,"  is  the  laconic  way  it  was 
expressed  in  army  parlance. 

The  "first  relief"  serve  from  9  to  11,  the  second  from 
11  till  1,  and  the  third  from  1  till  3,  when  the  first  relief 
comes  on  again,  and  so  it  goes  throughout  the  twenty- 
four  hours  of  the  day  and  night.  The  corporals  serve 
the  same  way,  although  they  are  not  on  post.  They 
hang  around  the  camp  fire,  ready  to  respond  to  any  call 
from  any  of  the  men  on  guard. 

"Corporal  of  the  guard,  post  No.  6,"  is  a  call  fre- 
quently heard.  It  may  mean  anything.  It  may  mean 
that  the  picket  is  confronted  by  the  enemy,  or  it  may 
mean  that  he  wants  a  drink  of  water.  It  is  the  cor- 
poral's duty  to  wait  upon  him.  For  that  reason  al- 
though a  corporal  was  of  higher  rank  than  the  private, 
the  former  was  frequently  dubbed  by  the  name  of 
"  waiter." 

The  sergeant  stayed  at  the  headquarters  of  the  "picket 
post,"  which  usually  consisted  of  nothing  more  than  a 
good  fire  in  some  convenient  place  along  the  line. 
The  sergeant  had  the  command  of  the  pickets  of  that 
particular  post,  which  might  include  a  dozen  or  more 
places  where  the  privates  were  stationed.  The  corporal 
reported  to  the  sergeant,  and  if  the  problem  presented 
was  more  than  the  sergeant  could  solve,  he  reported  to 
the  officer  of  the  guard. 

The  difference  between  guards  and  pickets  is  this: 
Guards  are  merely  men  stationed  around  some  internal 
part  of  the  army.  Pickets  are  the  men  stationed  on  the 
extreme  outer  edge.  In  other  words  there  is  nothing 
between  the  pickets  and  the  enemy — that  is  if  there  is 
any  enemy  in  that  particular  direction.  Whether  there 
is  or  not,  there  is  always  supposed  to  be. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  189 " 

I  was  on  the  second  relief — that  is,  on  duty  from  11 
to  1  o'clock,  and  my  first  post  was  on  the  road  along 
the  Potomac  River,  at  the  foot  of  Maryland  Heights 
and  about  half  a  mile  up  the  river  from  opposite  Har- 
per's Ferry. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day.  The  rain  had  cleared  off  and 
the  skies  were  bright.  Any  one  who  has  been  there 
knows  that  it  is  one  of  the  most  picturesque  spots  in  the 
country.  I  felt  good  and  for  the  first  time  since  my 
enlistment  seemed  to  enjoy  the  experience  of  being  a 
soldier. 

Here  I  was,  I  thought,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  Union 
army,  with  nothing  between  me  and  the  Confederate 
army.  I  felt  and  enjoyed  the  responsibility  of  reflect- 
ing that  so  many  men  were  under  my  watchful  care. 
How  faithful  I  would  be.  I  imagined  to  myself  how  I 
would  defend  my  post  if  any  of  the  enemy's  pickets 
should  make  their  appearance.  1  would  defend  it  with 
my  last  drop  of  blood,  of  course. 

So  I  thought.  If  an  enemy's  picket  had  made  his 
appearance  I  most  likely  would  have  suddenly  de- 
camped. But  the  enemy  did  not  appear.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  there  was  not  a  rebel  within  miles.  How  easy 
it  is  to  be  brave  under  such  circumstances,  although  of 
course  I  did  not  know. 

I  had  been  very  carefully  cautioned  not  to  let  a  living 
soul  pass  my  post  without  the  countersign.  The  coun- 
tersign that  day  was  "Manassas.''  I  had  of  course 
heard  of  the  tricks  played  on  John  Ick  and  the  other 
green ies,  but  they  couldn't  come  any  such  game  as  that 
over  me.     Not  much ! 

Pretty  soon  I  heard  a  clanking  of  swords,  and  a  largo 
number  of  brilliantly  uniformed  mounted  officers  ap- 
proached. Who  should  the  head  one  be  but  General 
George  B.  McCleilan  himself ! 

I  had  seen  General  McCleilan  several  times,  and 
knew  him  by  sight  perfectly.  As  he  approached  he 
came  up  to  me  and  I  brought  my  rifle  to  a  "present 
arms." 

"Do  you  know  who  I  am?"  he  asked. 

"Of  course  I  do,"  I  answered.  "You  are  General 
McCleilan." 


190  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

"And  these  officers  are  members  of  my  staff,"  said 
the  general.  "Yon  must  keep  your  musket  at  a  'present 
arms'  while  they  all  pass." 

"All  right,  general,"  I  responded,  and  I  kept  my 
rifle  sticking  out  in  front  of  me  according  to  the  way  the 
tactics  called  for  a  "present  arms." 

I  looked  down  to  the  next  picket,  another  Thirteenth 
boy,  and  saw  the  same  maneuver  enacted  there,  and  so 
on  till  the  gay  cavalcade  had  passed  around  the  bend  of 
the  rocks. 

I  felt  highly  honored  with  the  idea  of  having  pre- 
sented arms  to  General  McClellan.  What  a  story  it 
would  be  to  tell  to  the  boys  at  camp. 

What  a  story  it  was,  indeed ! 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  after,  the  entire  section  of 
picket  guarded  by  the  Thirteenth's  boys  were  relieved 
and  marched  back  to  camp  and  locked  up  in  the  log  hut 
called  the  "guard  house,"  or  prison. 

"What  is  this  for?"  we  asked  indignantly.  "Who 
ordered  that  we  should  be  locked  up?" 

"General  McClellan,"  was  the  answer. 

"What  for?" 

"For  letting  him  and  his  whole  staff  pass  you  with- 
out the  countersign !" 

"Well,  I'll  be  d — d!"  said  Lem  Smith,  one  of  my 
companions. 

And  so  said  we  all  of  us. 


the  young  volunteer.  191 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE   SUTLER. 

Well,  wasn't  this  a  nice  predicament? 

After  all  the  instruction  we  had  received !  After  all 
the  fun  we  had  poked  at  John  Ick  and  the  other  fellows 
for  being  so  green  as  to  let  officers  pass  them  without 
giving  the  countersign,  to  think  that  we — we,  who  con- 
sidered ourselves  more  than  ordinarily  well  posted  and 
on  the  alert,  should  be  found  guilty  of  the  same  stupid- 
ity, was  too  much  altogether. 

Of  all  the  chagrined  and  ashamed  lot  in  the  guard 
house  that  day  I  do  not  think  there  was  a  single  one 
who  .thought  for  a  moment  of  making  any  excuse  for 
himself.  We  had  been  found  remiss  in  one  of  the  sim- 
plest duties  of  a  soldier,  and  had  been  caught  in  a  trap 
that  was  considered  only  fit  for  greenhorns.  And  we 
had  by  this  time  begun  to  look  upon  ourselves  as  veter- 
ans, although  in  the  service  scarcely  more  than  a 
month. 

But  we  ought  to  have  known  better,  that's  sure 
enough.  When  a  picket  is  given  orders  to  allow  no  one 
to  pass  without  the  countersign,  it  means  everybod3r, 
from  the  lowest  private  to  the  commanding  general  of 
the  army,  or  even  of  the  President  of  the  United  States. 

As  for  myself  I  was  blinded  by  the  magnificence  of 
General  McClellan's  staff.  Or  perhaps  I  imagined  on 
the  spur  of  the  moment  that  of  course  the  highest  officer 
in  the  army  could  come  and  go  as  he  chose,  countersign 
or  no  countersign.  Be  it  as  it  may,  we  all  recognized 
the  stupid  blunder  we  had  made  the  moment  we  were 
told  why  we  had  been  arrested  and  by  whose  order. 

Not  only  the  comparatively  green  pickets  of  the 
Thirteenth  New  Jersey  and  some  of  the  equally  green 
New  York  regiment  that  was  brigaded  with  us,  had 


192  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

been  caught  in  the  trap,  but  also  some  of  the  members 
of  the  Twenty-seventh  Indiana  and  Third  Wisconsin, 
who  certainly  ought  to  have  known  more,  had  been 
hauled  in  for  the  same  offense.  It  seems  that  on  the 
retreat  from  the  Peninsular  discipline  had  become  some- 
what relaxed,  and  it  was  a  common  occurrence  for  the 
guards  and  pickets  to  let  the  high  officers  pass  without 
question,  and  ^such  a  thing  as  demanding  the  counter- 
sign from  them,  in  spite  of  the  strict  orders  that  had 
been  given,  had  never  entered  the  minds  of  these  veter- 
ans.    So  it  was  that  they  fell  into  the  same  trap. 

I  cannot  tell  how  many  men  were  arrested  that  day 
for  the  same  thing — there  were  a  good  many.  It  was 
only  intended  as  a  sort  of  object  lesson  to  teach  the  men 
that  orders  were  to  be  more  strictly  obeyed  thereafter, 
particularly  in  regard  to  picket  duty.  So  the  punish- 
ment in  this  instance  was  nothing  more  than  a  repri- 
mand, and  a  warning  not  to  be  caught  in  the  same  trap 
again.  We  were  kept  in  the  guard  house,  however,  for 
several  hours  before  we  were  thus  disposed  of,  and  dur- 
ing that  time  we  were  picturing  all  sorts  of  punishment 
for  our  remissness. 

It  was  a  good  lesson  to  us  all,  for  never  again  were 
we  caught  in  the  trap  of  letting  any  one  pass  without 
the  countersign  when  on  picket,  no  matter  who  it  might 
be. 

It  was  while  we  were  at  Maryland  Heights  that  we 
were  introduced  to  something  new  about  army  life — the 
"sutler." 

If  ever  another  war  breaks  out  and  I  conclude  to 
enter  the  service,  I  think  I  will  be  a  sutler.  At  the  first 
sign  of  a  fight,  the  sutler  mysteriously  disappears  and 
never  turns  up  till  the  danger  is  over.  Sutlers  always 
got  rich.  They  had  a  regular  bonanza.  Perhaps  the 
majority  of  the  readers  of  this  do  not  know  what  the 
sutler  was. 

In  the  midst  of  camp  one  day  some  men  began  to  put 
up  a  big,  square  tent.  It  was  larger  than  the  tent  oc- 
cupied by  any  of  the  officers.  It  was  high  and  commo- 
dious. Wagons  began  to  be  unloaded  of  boxes  and 
barrels  and  mysterious-looking  crates.  They  were 
taken  inside  and  the  flaps  of  the  tents  drawn,  while  the 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  193 

actors  inside  got  the  properties  arranged  for  the  per- 
formance. 

In  the  morning  our  eyes  were  dazzled  with  the  lay- 
out. The  upper  part  of  two  sides  of  the  tent  were  rolled 
up,  displaying  on  a  sort  of  counter  the  most  tempting 
assortment  of  articles.  There  were  pipes  and  tobacco 
galore,  boxes  of  sardines  and  tomatoes,  butter  in  her- 
metically sealed  glass  jars,  ginger  snaps  and  cakes, 
apples,  potatoes,  fresh  bread,  herring  and  mackerel, 
dried  apples,  prunes  and  peaches,  figs  and  dates, 
oranges,  soda  water  and  ginger  pop,  and  a  thousand 
other  things  that  were  likely  to  tempt  the  palates  of 
soldiers. 

And  there  were  various  articles  of  wearing  apparel  of 
a  finer  texture  than  that  furnished  by  Uncle  Sam,  such 
as  better  stockings,  finer  shoes  and  long-legged  boots, 
leggings,  rubber  overcoats,  handkerchiefs,  writing 
paper  and  envelopes,  and  in  fact  no  end  of  articles  in 
the  fancy  goods  line. 

Nearly  every  regiment  in  the  army  had  its  sutler. 
These  things  were  sold  to  the  officers  and  soldiers,  and 
the  trade  was  a  good  one,  while  the  prices  were  some- 
thing outrageous.  You  had  to  patronize  the  sutler  of 
your  own  regiment  or  go  without,  and  pay  whatever 
was  charged  for  the  articles  desired. 

We  were  nearly  all  in  need  of  tobacco,  which  was 
about  the  first  thing  sought  for,  and  although  it  was 
villainous  tobacco,  half  chips,  it  was  better  than  smok- 
ing oak  and  laurel  leaves,  to  which  strait  some  of  us 
had  been  reduced.  The  tobacco  sold  by  the  sutler  was 
mostly  known  as  the  "Garibaldi"  brand.  It  bore  a 
gorgeous  picture  of  the  patriot  in  a  red  shirt  and  dark 
trousers,  so  he  looked  like  a  member  of  a  volunteer  fire 
department.  Ask  any  old  soldier  if  this  description  of 
the  wrapper  on  the  smoking  tobacco  used  in  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac  does  not  remind  him  of  old  times.  The 
tobacco  itself  looked  and  tasted  like  pine  sawdust,  and 
had  about  as  much  flavor  when  smoked. 

"I'd  like  to  have  some  of  that  tobacco,"  said  John 
Butterworth  to  me,  "but  I  haven't  a  cent." 

"I'm  busted  myself,  Jack,"  said  I,  "but  let's  go  and 
see  if  we  can't  stand  him  off  for  a  paper  of  the  tobacco." 


194  TSE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEEB. 

Butterworth  agreed  to  this  proposition  and  we  ap- 
proached the  tent  of  the  sutler.  "Say,  Mr.  Sutler," 
said  I,  "we  fellows  want  some  tobacco,  and  haven't  a 
cent.     Do  you  trust?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  was  the  reply.  "You  can  have  anything 
you  want  not  exceeding  the  pay  due  you.  You  have 
been  in  the  service  for  a  month  and  consequently  your 
credit  is  good  for  thirteen  dollars." 

"Say,  Jack,"  said  I  to  my  comrade,  "this  is  a  snap. 
Let's  lay  in  a  stock.  He'll  have  a  time  to  collect  it, 
won't  he?  There's  no  justice  of  the  peace  or  constable 
around  here  to  make  a  levy,  you  know." 

"There's  some  trick  about  it,"  replied  Jack,  "or  he 
wouldn't  be  so  willing  to  trust.  However,  we  will  try 
it  and  see. ' ' 

I  chose  a  new  briar  pipe,  price  one  dollar — anywhere 
else  twenty- five  cents.  For  a  ten -cent  paper  of  smok- 
ing tobacco  the  price  was  a  quarter.  Fifteen  cents  was 
charged  for  a  plug  of  "niggerhead"  chewing  plug.  I 
also  paid  fifty  cents  for  about  ten  cents  worth  of  paper 
and  envelopes. 

Total,  one  dollar  and  ninety  cents. 

The  butter  in  the  jars  looked  tempting.  I  hadn't 
tasted  butter  for  over  a  month.  The  butter  was  done 
up  in  little  muslin  bags,  and  these  were  placed  in  a 
glass  jar,  which  was  hermetically  pealed.  Altogether 
the  butter  was  supposed  to  weigh  one  pound. 

"How  much  for  the  butter?"  I  asked,  holding  up  the 
jar. 

"Twenty  shillings,"  I  was  informed. 

"What?" 

"Two  dollars  and  a  half." 

"Two  dollars  and  a  half  for  a  pound  of  butter?" 

"That's  the  price,"  said  the  sutler.  And  he  ex- 
plained the  difficulty  of  getting  butter  to  the  front  and 
caring  for  it  in  such  a  convincing  manner  that  I  became 
satisfied  that  two  dollars  and  a  half  a  pound  was  not 
only  reasonable,  but,  under  the  circumstances,  very 
cheap  indeed. 

I  invested,  thus  running  up  a  bill  of  four  dollars  and 
ninety  cents.  It  was  the  last  pound  of  sutler  butter 
that  I  ever  bought,  for  it  was  a  delusion  and  a  snare.     I 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  195 

guess  it  was  nothing  but  colored  lard — and  very  stale 
lard  at  that.  We  simply  couldn't  eat  it — and  when  a 
thing  is  so  bad  that  a  soldier  cannot  eat  it  it  must  be 
bad  indeed. 

John  Ick  was  disgusted  with  the  sutler  because  he 
could  not  supply  his  demand  for  "ein  glass  lager." 
Reddy  Mahar  pleaded  iu  vain  for  a  little  of  "the  old 
stuff,"  for  in  the  rear  end  of  the  tent  could  be  seen  some 
bottles  marked  "Bourbon."  The  proper  brand  of 
whiskey  in  those  days  was  "Bourbon."  Such  a  thing 
as  "Rye"  was  hardly  ever  heard  of. 

But  the  sutler  could  not  sell  intoxicating  liquor  to  the 
enlisted  men.  It  was  against  the  regulations.  These 
regulations  did  not  apply  to  the  commissioned  officers, 
and  some  of  them  took  advantage  of  the  exceptional 
privilege.  Lieutenant  Scott  was  good  to  me  in  that 
respect,  however.  I  did  not  take  much  to  whisky,  but 
enjoyed  the  opportunity  to  get  it  because  it  was  "forbid- 
den fruit." 

Not  infrequently,  with  all  these  precautions,  one 
would  see  a  drunken  soldier.  How  he  got  his  liquor 
was  always  more  or  less  of  a  mystery,  but  generally  on 
such  occasions  there  would  be  found  a  bottle  or  so  miss- 
ing from  the  sutler's  tent. 

I  thought  the  sutler  was  very  generous  in  giving  the 
soldiers  so  much  trust,  and  often  wondered  how  he 
could  collect  all  his  bills.  But  I  found  out  at  the  first 
pay  day.  We  were  getting  two  months'  pay — twenty- 
six  dollars.  When  the  paymaster  called  me  up  for  my 
pay  I  signed  my  name  at  the  edge  of  the  big  sheet  of 
paper  and  the  clerk  handed  me  eight  dollars. 

"How's  this?"  I  asked.  "Here's  only  eight  dollars, 
instead  of  twent}r-six." 

"That's  right,"  answered  the  paymaster,  with  an 
imperious  wave  of  the  hand.  "We  have  deducted  your 
bill  on  the  sutler,  amounting  to  seventeen  dollars  and 
twenty-five  cents. ' ' 

Ah,  I  had  discovered  how  the  sutler  collected  his  bills 
— why  he  was  so  willing  to  trust  the  soldiers.  He  had 
the  bulge  on  us,  sure  enough.  That  was  a  nice  arrange- 
ment, wasn't  it? 

"But  hold  on,  major,"  said  I,  after  making  a  hasty 


196  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

mental  calculation.  "You  say  my  bill  at  the  sutler's 
was  seventeen  dollars  and  twenty-five  cents,  which 
amount,  taken  from  twenty-six  dollars,  leaves  eight 
dollars  and  seventy-five  cents,  and  you  have  only  given 
me  eight  dollars.     That  is  seventy-five  cents  short." 

"Haven't  time  for  explanations,"  answered  the  auto- 
crat. "Ask  pyour  captain.  Campbell"  (calling  the 
next  name  on  the  roll). 

"You  see,"  said  Lieutenant  Scott,  explaining  the 
matter  to  me  afterward,  "the  paymaster  has  no  change 
and  can  only  pay  the  even  dollars.  The  seventy-five 
cents  will  go  to  your  credit  on  the  next  pay  roll." 

That  was  the  rule.  The  sutler  came  first,  the  odd 
change  next,  and  the  soldier  got  what  was  left.  The 
cash  I  received  for  my  first  two  months'  service  in  the 
army  was  accordingly  eight  dollars,  four  dollars  a 
month,  a  dollar  a  week — and  found ! 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  197 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

NEWS   FROM   HOME. 

We  all  made  up  our  minds  that  the  sutler  would,  not 
get  such  a  large  proportion  of  our  pay  the  next  time, 
but  these  good  resolutions  did  not  amount  to  much  when 
the  time  came.  And  let  me  interpolate  that  a  soldier's 
remuneration  was  never  referred  to  as  "wages"  or 
"salary,"  or  any  other  term  than  "pay."  That  was  the 
only  word  ever  used  in  connection  with  the  compensa- 
tion received  from  Uncle  Sam  for  our  services. 

As  said,  the  good,  resolution  not  to  let  such  a  large 
proportion  of  our  "pay"  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  sut- 
lers was  easier  made  than  kept.  Mild  as  it  was,  it  was 
the  only  source  of  dissipation  within  our  reach.  The 
bill  of  fare  provided  by  the  government  was  very 
limited,  and  in  a  short  time  it  became  extremely  monot- 
onous. There  was  scarcely  a  day  that  there  was  not  a 
demand  for  some  little  luxury  or  convenience  from  the 
sutler's  tent. 

With  us  young  fellows  this  drain  on  our  income  did 
not  amount  to  much,  but  married  men,  who  had  fami- 
lies at  home  who  needed  every  cent  that  could  be  sent 
to  them,  had  to  be  more  economical.  And  the  people  at 
home  probably  never  had  the  slightest  comprehension  of 
the  privation  and  discomfort  that  their  husbands  and 
fathers  went  through  in  order  to  save  every  cent.  That 
was  patriotism  from  a  domestic  economy  point  of  view. 

There  were  some  occurrences  at  Maryland  Heights 
that  filled  us  with  indignation,  in  the  shape  of  the  resig- 
nations of  several  of  the  commissioned  officers.  A  pri- 
vate soldier  was  enlisted  and  bound  fast  "for  three 
years  unless  sooner  discharged,"  but  the  commissioned 
officers  had  the  privilege  of  resigning  and  going  home 
whenever  they  saw  fit,  although  it  was  generally  re- 


198  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

garded  as  arrant  cowardice  for  one  to  resign  on  the  eve 
of  an  impending  battle.  In  such  cases,  however,  as  a 
general  rule,  the  resignation  would  not  be  accepted. 

But  there  were  several  resignations  among  the  officers 
at  Maryland  Heights.  They  "knew  when  they  had 
enough' '  and ' '  wanted  to  go  home. ' '  So  did  we  privates, 
but  we  couldn't  "go  home."  Of  course  all  the  resign- 
ing officers  had  "urgent  business"  or  "sickness  in  the 
family"  that  required  their  immediate  presence  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  domestic  hearthstones,  but  an  altogether 
different  interpretation  was  placed  on  these  resigna- 
tions by  the  average  soldier. 

Sometimes,  under  very  extraordinary  emergencies,  a 
private  could  get  a  short  leave  of  absence  or  "fur- 
lough," to  go  home,  but  one  had  to  have  a  "pull"  to 
obtain  this  inestimable  privilege.  It  is  easier  for  a 
camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of  a  sewing-machine  needle 
than  it  is  for  a  private  soldier  to  get  a  furlough. 

To  their  credit  be  it  said,  there  were  no  resignations 
in  Company  K.  We  had  at  that  time  but  one  commis- 
sioned officer — Lieutenant  Scott — and  he  stuck  by  us.  He 
was  daily  expecting  his  commission  as  captain  and  that 
was  another  incentive  for  his  remaining.  But  the  mem- 
bers of  Company  K  were  not  slow  in  expressing  their 
opinions  of  thos9  officers  that  did  resign.  Of  course  our 
friend  John  Ick  bobbed  up  serenely  on  this  occasion. 

"Dey  vas  a  lot  of  d — d  cowyards,"  he  said.  "Dey 
gets  us  here  by  the  front  alretty,  mid  den  dey  goes  back 
by  us  all  the  times,  by  jimminey.  Dey  drives  us 
likes  ein  lot  o'  sheeps  by  the  schlaughter  haus,  nnd  then 
dey  runs  avay.     Dey  was  cowj'ards!" 

The  juxtaposition  of  "cowyards"  and  "slaughter 
houses"  was  a  better  pun  than  John  had  any  idea  of. 
But  that  is  what  he  said,  and  he  expressed  the  senti- 
ments of  a  good  many  others.  These  adverse  comments 
went  to  such  a  length  that  there  was  a  warning  that  if 
the  boys  did  not  keep  their  mouths  shut  on  the  subject 
they  would  likely  be  disciplined  for  disrespect  toward 
their  superior  officers — an  unpardonable  sin,  by  the  way. 

At  Maryland  Heights  we  began  to  get  our  first  mail 
from  home.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  delight  and 
satisfaction  to  a  soldier  to  receive  letters  from  home. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  199 

I  received  two.  One  was  from  my  uncle,  and  another 
from — well,  no  matter. 

I  also  received  a  copy  of  the  Guardian — the  paper  on 
which  I  had  worked — the  one  containing  the  particulars 
of  the  battle  we  had  recently  passed  through.  Then  for 
the  first  time  we  learned  the  name  of  the  battle — "An- 
tietam."  We  had  always  imagined  that  it  would  be 
called  "the  battle  of  Sharpsburg,"  because  it  was  near 
that  village.  But  the  Northern  newspapers  and  histo- 
rians named  it  after  the  creek — Antietam — and  so  it  has 
been  known  ever  since — throughout  the  North. 

The  Southern  people  named  it  by  its  natural  and  more 
proper  appellation,  it  seems  to  me.  They  have  in  their 
histories  no  "battle  of  Antietam."  With  them  it  is 
"the  battle  of  Sharps  burg."  The  theory  adopted  by 
the  Northern  historians  was  an  old  one.  Cities  and 
towns  maybe  destroyed  or  otherwise  disappear,  running 
streams  never.  The  name  of  the  location  of  a  great 
event  is  accordiugly  taken  from  some  permanent  land- 
mark or  watermark.  Hence,  "Antietam,"  from  the 
creek,  rather  than  "Sharpsburg,"  from  the  village. 

I  remember  the  articles  about  the  battle  in  the  Guar- 
dian distinctly.  It  had  a  lot  of  flaring  headlines  and  a 
long  list  of  the  killed  and  wounded.  I  forget  whether 
it  was  in  this  battle  or  some  other  one  that  I  was  reported 
among  the  killed.  I  had  the  pleasure  (?)  of  reading  my 
own  obituary  at  least  once  in  my  life.  I  often  wonder 
when  the  genuine  article  is  published  if  it  will  be  so 
complimentary ! 

It  afforded  an  intense  pleasure  to  read  that  paper 
from  home.  The  local  news  was  specially  interesting. 
I  saw  that  more  of  my  old  companions  had  subsequently 
enlisted  in  the  army,  in  other  regiments,  and  I  began  to 
wonder  if  there  was  anybody  left  at  home  at  all.  But 
1  looked  in  vain  among  the  list  of  those  who  had  gone 
to  the  war  for  the  names  of  those  patriotic  orators  who 
had  made  the  speeches  from  the  steps  of  the  old  bank 
building  on  Main  Street. 

Nearly  all  the  boys  had  received  letters  from  home. 
Some  of  them  contained  bad  news,  telling  of  trouble  or 
sickness,  and  these  made  the  recipients  very  down- 
hearted and  unhappy.     I  was  more  than  ever  glad  that 


200  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

I  had  no  one  dependent  upon  me.  The  letter  from  my 
uncle  told  of  the  trouble  he  had  to  get  out  the  Guardian, 
now  that  all  his  printers  had  gone  to  the  war.  He  said 
that  he  had  even  to  put  one  of  the  girls  at  work  on  mak- 
ing up  the  forms.     I  showed  the  letter  to  Davy  Harris. 

"Joe,"  said  he,  "do  you  remember  how  I  kicked  at 
being  called  up  from  the  job  room  to  make  up  the  forms 
when  Joe  Mosley  was  sick?  Well,  I  wouldn't  kick  at 
such  an  order  now,  you  bet.  What  fools  we  were  to 
leave  that  job  and  come  here.  But  there's  no  use  cry- 
ing now.  We  are  in  for  it,  and  that  settles  it.  So  Joe 
Mosley  has  enlisted  too,  has  he?" 

"So  it  seems,"  I  replied.  "Guess  he  will  find  it  a 
little  different  from  setting  advertisements  and  making 
up  the  forms,  eh?" 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  an  order  to  fall 
in  tor  drill. 

And  by  the  way,  the  drilling  began  to  be  incessant, 
and  it  was  very  tiresome.  The  boys  were  all  more  or 
less  weakened  from  the  effects  of  that  magnesia  spring, 
and  the  exposure  of  army  life  had  begun  to  have  other 
effects  upon  us.  So  far  as  I  was  concerned,  this  sort  of 
life  rather  agreed  with  me.  I  had  always  had  a  rather 
indoor  occupation — at  least  for  some  years  before  I  en- 
listed— and  the  outdoor  air  was  building  me  up.  There 
is  nothing  like  the  fresh  outdoor  air  for  health,  even 
with  all  its  discomforts. 

With  drills  and  picket  duties  we  were  kept  busy  dur- 
ing the  time  we  were  at  Maryland  Heights.  And  so  it 
ran  on  till  the  26th  of  October,  when  we  were  informed 
that  a  new  general  had  been  assigned  to  the  command 
of  our  corps — General  Henry  W.  Slocum.  He  was  to 
visit  us  the  following  day,  and  be  formally  "intro- 
duced." In  other  words,  we  were  to  have  a  "general 
review." 

Later  in  the  evening  we  were  thrown  into  a  state  of 
still  further  excitement.  We  were  told  to  have  our  uni- 
forms neatly  brushed,  our  guns  cleaned  to  the  highest 
pitch  of  perfection,  and  the  brass  work  on  our  accouter- 
ments  polished  till  we  could  see  our  faces  in  them. 

"What's  up?  What  does  all  this  mean?"  I  asked 
Sergeant  Wells. 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  201 

"Why,  don't  you  know?"  he  replied.     "The  presi- 
dent is  coming." 

"The  president?    What  president?"  I  asked,  not  tak- 
ing it  in. 

"The  President  of  the  United  States,  of  course." 
"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  President  Lincoln  is 
coming  to  see  us?" 

"Yes,  he  will  be  here  to-morrow  to  review  us." 
I  hastened  down  through  the  company  to  spread  the 
news. 


202  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

I   SALUTE   THE  PRESIDENT. 

In  the  meantime  Lieutenant  James  G.  Scott  had  re- 
ceived his  commission  as  captain,  "vice  Captain  Irish, 
killed,"  as  the  rolls  had  it.  William  H.  Miller,  for- 
merly a  member  of  the  Second  New  Jersey,  had  been 
appointed  as  first  lieutenant  in  Scott's  place,  and  soon 
after  Heber  Wells,  the  orderly  sergeant,  was  appointed 
second  lieutenant,  while  our  old  friend  "Hank"  (Henry 
Van  Orden),  was  made  orderly  sergeant. 

Similar  changes  had  been  made  in  the  other  com- 
panies. In  fact  so  many  changes  had  been  made  that 
the  various  companies  were  practically  newly  officered ; 
but  on  the  whole  it  was  an  improvement,  for  we  were 
getting  down  to  the  practical  hard  pan  only  reached  by 
service  and  experience.  At  the  time  mentioned  in  the 
preceding  chapter  therefore,  the  Thirteenth  Regiment 
was  getting  down  to  a  pretty  good  shape.  The  men 
had  received  considerable  drill  and  knew  the  difference 
between  "present  arms"  and  "guard  mount." 

I  appreciated  the  fact  that  I  had  even  made  some 
progress  myself.  I  could  shoot  off  a  rifle  without  shut- 
ting my  eyes,  and  in  the  marksmen's  drill  I  had  on  at 
least  one  occasion  succeeded  in  hitting  the  edge  of  a  six- 
foot  target.  I  felt  if  I  continued  to  improve  at  this  rate, 
it  would  soon  be  dangerous  for  a  rebel  to  stand  in  front 
of  my  gun  if  it  should  go  off,  and  that  if  I  only  got  a 
chance  at  the  enemy  the  war  would  soon  be  ended  by 
the  total  annihilation  of  all  the  fellows  on  the  other 
side. 

I  had  also  received  a  sort  of  a  promotion.  It  was  not 
a  promotion  in  a  strictly  military  sense,  but  it  was  a 
peg  higher  anyhow,  and  it  involved  certain  enviable 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  203 

perquisites  and  privileges.  In  other  words  I  had  been 
dignified  by  the  appointment  of  "company  clerk." 

The  clerk  of  a  company  makes  out  the  different  and 
apparently  never-ending  rolls  and  reports  connected  with 
the  company.  He  is  practically  the  captain's  private 
secretary.  He  is  most  of  the  time  during  the  day  in  the 
captain's  tent,  and  his  associates  are  more  the  officers 
than  the  enlisted  men.  The  advantages  of  being  a  com- 
pany clerk  consisted  in  being-  excused  from  squad, 
company  and  other  drills,  and  from  guard  duty,  police 
duty,  and  other  menial  service.  It  did  not  excuse  him 
from  regimental  or  brigade  drill,  nor  from  picket  duty, 
inspections  or  reviews.  There  was  no  excuse  from  these 
except  for  those  on  absent  assignments  or  detached 
service. 

But  the  position  of  company  clerk  is  altogether  an 
enviable  one,  and  much  sought  after.  I  received  the 
appointment  because  I  could  write  a  good  hand  (those 
who  see  my  writing  now  would  never  believe  it)  and 
because  I  was  possessed  of  a  certain  degree  of  general 
intelligence  that  qualified  me  for  the  position.  The 
place,  by  bringing  the  incumbent  into  close  connection 
with  the  officers,  gave  him  the  advantage  of  certain  im- 
portant information  ahead  of  the  general  rank  and  file, 
which  sometimes  was  a  good  thing. 

As  said  we  had  had  a  new  general  assigned  to  the 
command  of  our  corps,  General  Henry  W.  Slocum. 
Our  other  general,  Mansfield,  had  been  killed  at  the 
battle  of  Antietam. 

"What  sort  of  a  man  is  this  Slocum?"  I  asked  of  a 
member  of  the  Second  Massachusetts  whom  I  met  that 
morning.  j 

"He's  a  rip  snorter,"  was  the  answer.  "He  is  a 
fighting  man  from  way  back.  I  tell  you  we  will  catch 
it  now  when  we  get  into  a  fight." 

"Mine  Gott  und  himmel,"  said  John  Ick,  who  stood 
near  at  the  time.  ' '  Ish  he  a  more  by  dot  schlaughter 
haus  yeneral  by  dot  under  feller?  I  no  likes  dot.  Now 
we  gets  kilt  sure  enough,  alretty." 

And  if  it  be  true  that  General  Slocum  was  a  harder 
fighter  than  General  Mansfield,  it  did  not  suit  me  either, 
not  much.     A  man  of  peace  would  have  been  more  to 


204  The  young  volunteer. 

my  liking.  But  we  were  in  for  it,  and  what  was  tha 
use?  The  [government  did  not  consult  the  private  sol- 
diers as  to  who  should  be  their  commanding  officers. 
Perhaps  if  it  had  we  would  have  had  better  ones  some- 
times. This  was  not  the  case  with  General  Slocum,  of 
course,  for  a  better  genoral  never  lived. 

As  General  Slocum  died  only  a  short  time  since,  and 
his  portraits  were  published  by  many  papers  in  connec- 
tion with  that  event,  most  people  are  familiar  with  his 
appearance.  They  will  remember  his  white  hair  and 
white  mustache,  and  a  generally  blond  appearance. 
He  was  an  entirely  different-looking  man  in  the  army. 

He  was  of  course  much  younger  then.  His  hair  was 
a  dark  brown,  and  he  wore  a  full  beard,  trimmed  short. 
Most  of  the  officers  wore  full  beards  in  the  war,  not  so 
much  on  account  of  appearance,  but  because  it  was  sup- 
posed to  be  a  protection  against  sore  throats.  But  the 
principal  reason  was  that  the  barber  shops  were  not 
handy  and  the  opportune  for  regular  shaving  was  not 
possible.  I  remember  General  Slocum  as  he  looked 
then  because  I  had  a  specially  advantageous  opportu- 
nity to  see  him  close  by. 

It  was  my  good  fortune  to  be  detailed  for  guard  that 
day,  and  my  still  better  fortune  to  be  one  of  the  men  on 
guard  at  General  McClellan's  headquarters.  It  was 
a  scene  of  great  activity  and  magnificence.  Extra  tents, 
of  a  large  size,  had  been  set  up,  one  of  which  was  a  sort 
of  lunchroom,  where  a  table  was  set  that  contained  a 
marvelous  collection,  considering  the  situation.  There 
were  bottles  galore,  and  numerous  baskets  of  cham- 
pagne. The  idea  of  such  a  thing  as  champagne  and 
glass  goblets  to  drink  it  from,  struck  me  with  wonder- 
ment, out  there  "in  the  front." 

Mounted  orderlies  and  aids  were  galloping  hither  and 
thither  with  preparatory  orders,  and  the  number  of 
handsomely  uniformed  officers  wearing  the  stars  of  a 
general  on  their  shoulder-straps  was  something  won- 
derful. Many  of  the  officers  were  from  the  ornamental 
detachment  on  duty  at  Washington,  whose  uniforms 
looked  as  if  they  had  just  come  from  the  tailor's  shop, 
and  whose  gold  lace  and  bullion  trappings  were  like 
those  worn  by  the  militia  now.     This  was  something 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  205 

oddly  contrasting  with  the  dull  and  dingy  appearance 
of  the  uniforms  and  equipments  of  the  officers  who  had 
been  in  active  service  in  the  front. 

To  a  soldier  who  had  just  been  through  hard  marches 
and  battles,  there  was  a  feeling  of  intense  disgust  for 
these  "play  soldiers,"  as  they  were  called.  It  is  said 
that  a  man  with  a  fur-lined  overcoat  is  always  tantaliz- 
ing to  a  laborer  in  overalls.  The  same  sort  of  a  feeling 
seemed  to  overcome  me  and  my  companions  at  the  sight 
of  these  gorgeously  attired  "West  Pointers,"  with  their 
clean  and  speckless  uniforms,  their  bright  golden  trap- 
pings, and  their  airish  eyeglasses. 

Soon  there  began  to  arrive  some  coaches.  How  funny 
they  looked— coaches  in  the  army,  where  the  only 
vehicles  are  mule- drawn  baggage  wagons  and  cavalry 
saddles.  But  funnier  still  was  the  sight  of  some  hand- 
somely dressed  ladies  getting  out  of  the  carriages^ 

Now  it  may  seem  strange,  but  with  the  exception  of 
a  vivandiere  in  one  of  the  regiments  of  our  corps,  none 
of  us  had  seen  a  woman  since  we  passed  through  Wash- 
ington. Every  man  seemed  to  straighten  himself  up 
with  dignity  at  the  unwonted  sight.  I  really  don't 
know  whether  those  ladies  were  handsome  or  not,  but  to 
our  eyes  they  resembled  angels.  The  bright  ribbons, 
the  dainty,  flower-decked  hats,  the  pretty  wraps,  and 
above  all  the  bright  parasols,  lent  an  addition  of  color 
to  the  surroundings  such  as  we  had  not  seen  in  many  a 

long  day. 

These  women  were  the  wives  and  daughters  ot  the 
distinguished  officers  and  officials  of  the  govern- 
ment. Harper's  Ferry  is  not  such  a  long  distance  from 
Washington  and  the  visit  for  them  was  a  nice  little  ex- 
cursion trip.  There  were  no  rebels  within  miles,  so 
that  there  was  no  earthly  danger,  but  I  imagined  those 
women  many  a  time  after  boasted  about  their  having 
been  "clear  to  the  front"  of  the  army  during  the  war. 

The  last  of  all  to  arrive  were  the  commanding  gen- 
erals of  the  different  corps,  and  finally  General  McClel- 
lan  himself  with  his  brilliant  staff. 

With  these  was  the  President  of  the  United  States, 
and  some  members  of  the-cabinet,  all  in  citizens'  clothes. 

How  plain  and  funereal  those  plain  black  suits  looked 


206  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

after  having  seen  nothing  but  blue  uniforms  for  so  many 
weeks!  It  must  be  admitted  that  the  contrast  waa 
rather  in  favor  of  the  soldiers — or  rather  the  officers. 
The  president  wore  a  silk  hat,  which  looked  woefully 
out  of  place. 

With  an  imperious  air  some  of  the  staff  officers  led 
the  way  into  the  collation  tent,  followed  by  the  presi- 
dent and  the  other  civilians.  After  them  came  some 
privileged  army  officers,  and  some  of  the  ladies.  If  I 
remember  rightly,  however,  the  most  of  these  remained 
outside,  watching  with  interest  the  gathering  army  on 
the  parade  ground. 

As  President  Lincoln  passed  me,  on  my  post  at  the 
entrance  of  the  tent,  I  brought  my  rifle  to  a  "present 
arms"  with  a  click  and  a  snap.  I  purposely  endeavored 
to  attract  his  attention,  but  he  never  noticed  me  no  more 
than  if  I  had  been  a  wooden  Indian  in  front  of  a  cigar 
store. 

The  distinguished  party  remained  in  the  tent  for  some 
time.  I  could  hear  the  popping  of  corks  and  clinking  of 
glasses,  the  lively  talk  and  the  merry  laughter.  Ah, 
thought  I,  it's  fun  for  them.  Little  do  the  most  of  them 
appreciate  what  real  war  is.  I  thought  this  way  in  my 
innocence.  I  did  not  appreciate  then  the  worry,  the 
anxiety  and  sleepless,  troubled  days  and  nights  that  were 
being  passed  by  those  who  directed  the  war. 

Others  than  soldiers  fight.  There  are  heroes  who 
never  shot  a  gun  or  wore  a  uniform. 

In  the  meantime  the  vast  army  had  got  into  position 
for  the  grand  review.  The  different  regiments  and  bri- 
gades, divisions  and  corps,  were  drawn  up  in  line  on 
the  field,  which  from  the  elevated  position  we  occupied 
we  could  see  spread  out  like  a  cosmorama.  It  did  pre- 
sent a  beautiful  sight,  the  straight  lines,  the  thousands 
of  soldiers,  the  glittering  bayonets,  the  bright  flags,  all 
spread  out  there  on  the  plain  below  us. 

Then  the  generals  commanding  the  different  corps 
mounted  their  horses  and,  accompanied  by  their  staffs, 
galloped  to  their  respective  commands  and  General  Mc- 
Clellan  and  his  staff,  accompanied  by  the  president  and 
his  associates,  and  followed  by  many  of  the  ladies,  went 
out  to  the  place  selected  for  them  where  they  could  have 
a  good  view  of  the  maneuvers.  ..  . 


THE  YOUNQ    VOLUNTEER.  207 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

A   PRESIDENTIAL   REVIEW. 

"Attention!  Present  arms!"  shouted  General  Mc- 
Clellan. 

"Attention!  Present  arms!"  repeated  the  various 
corps  commanders. 

"Attention!  Present  arms!"  reiterated  the  com- 
manders of  divisions,  and  the  commanders  of  the  bri- 
gades, and  the  commanders  of  regiments,  and  the  com- 
manders of  companies,  until  the  order  had  gone  down 
to  the  furthermost  soldier  in  the  army. 

That  is  the  way  orders  were  given.  It  was  mani- 
festly impossible  for  one  man's  voice  to  reach  the  whole 
army,  so  that  the  command  went  down  in  sections,  ac- 
cording to  rank,  like  the  signal  corps  wig-wagged  their 
messages  from  hilltop  to  hilltop. 

In  an  instant  the  entire  army  stood  at  a  "present 
arms,"  and  General  McClellan  turned,  and  with  a 
graceful  sweep  of  his  sword,  addressed  the  president: 

"Your  excellency,  the  parade  is  formed." 

I  don't  know  what  the  president  said  in  reply,  for  it 
was  in  too  low  a  tone.  But  he  at  once  mounted  a 
horse,  as  did  those  with  him,  and  proceeded  to  move 
off.  In  the  meantime  the  soldiers  were  ordered  to  bring 
their  muskets  from  the  uncomfortable  position  of  a 
*' present"  to  a  "shoulder"  arms.  According  to  the 
tactics  then  in  use  a  "shoulder"  was  a  "carry." 

President  Lincoln,  General  McClellan  and  their  bril- 
liant cavalcade  of  staff  officers  then  galloped  down 
toward  the  vast  army. 

I  will  never  forget  the  appearance  of  the  president 
on  that  occasion.  He  was  mounted  on  an  enormous  stal- 
lion, and  sat  in  a  Mexican  saddle  that  was  about  four 
times  too  large  for  him.     I  think  without  exception  he 


208  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

was  the  most  awkward-looking  man  on  horseback  that 
I  ever  laid  eyes  upon.  He  was  over  six  feet  in  height, 
slim  as  a  rail,  and  naturally  ungainly.  On  horseback 
he  bobbed  around  in  the  saddle  in  the  most  uncomforta- 
ble sort  of  way. 

His  long  black  coat  tails  streamed  behind  comically, 
and  his  "plug  hat"  looked  as  if  it  would  bob  off  with 
every  jump  the  horse  made.  The  officers  rode  like  cen- 
taurs, as  if  they  were  a  part  of  their  steeds  themselves, 
which  made  the  contrast  all  the  more  startling.  To  tell 
the  truth,  I  was  in  mortal  terror  that  the  president  would 
tumble  off  his  horse. 

But  he  didn't.  The  bands  played  "Hail  to  the 
Chief,"  according  to  the  orthodox  rule,  and  the  presi- 
dent. General  McClellan  and  the  big  staff  of  gold  tin- 
seled officers  cantered  down  the  line  and  back  on  the 
rear,  and  along  the  front  of  the  next  line  and  around 
that,  until  the  magnates  had  seen  the  front  and  rear  of 
every  line  of  troops  in  the  vast  army. 

Then  they  returned  to  their  starting  point,  called  the 
"reviewing  stand"  and,  still  mounted,  stood  there  for 
the  second  part  of  the  performance,  the  "marching  in 
review." 

To  the  private  soldier  this  is  one  of  the  most  arduous 
and  exasperating  of  all  drills.  The  men  march  around 
the  reviewing  stand  in  what  is  called  "company  front." 
That  is,  the}r  march  by  flank,  and  the  idea  is  that  when 
the  different  companies  pass  the  reviewing  stand,  each 
one  shall  present  a  perfectly  straight  line. 

On  level  ground  and  in  single  ranks  this  was  com- 
paratively easy.  In  the  front,  in  two  ranks,  with  the 
soldiers  treading  on  each  other's  heels,  and  over  uneven 
ground — perhaps  an  old  plowed  cornfield  or  something 
of  that  sort,  with  intercepting  rocks  and  stumps, 
bushes,  hillocks,  and  furrows — it  became  almost  an  im- 
possibility. 

But  the  army  on  this  occasion  did  remarkably  well. 
From  the  position  I  occupied,  as  one  of  the  guards  at 
headquarters,  I  could  see  the  whole  thing  as  plainly  as 
the  president  himself.  Then  for  the  first  time  I  got  an 
idea  of  what  a  big  army  it  was.  I  forget  the  exact 
number  in  that  particular  review,     All  that  I  remem- 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  209 

ber  is  that  it  was  something  less  than  one  hundred  thou- 
sand. 

What  impressed  me  most  was  the  number  of  cavalry- 
men and  artillerymen,  who  came  past  after  the  infantry 
or  foot  soldiers.  Then  came  the  ambulance  corps  and 
the  hospital  brigade. 

Ugh!  This  made  the  cold  shivers  run  down  my 
back.  It  reminded  me  of  the  unpleasant  and  grewsome 
experience  I  had  that  night  after  the  battle  of  Antietam. 

The  grand  spectacle  was  over  at  last,  the  assembled 
army  broke  up  into  its  integral  parts,  and  the  president 
and  general  officers  returned  to  the  headquarters. 

As  the  president  passed  me  for  the  third  time  that 
day,  I  again  brought  my  musket  to  a  "present  arms" 
with  a  more  vigorous  movement  than  ever,  so  much  so, 
in  fact,  that  it  attracted  Mr.  Lincoln's  attention,  and  he 
turned  and  looked  at  me. 

Although  I  had  really  intended  to  attract  his  atten- 
tion, in  order  to  see  if  he  would  remember  that  morning 
in  the  capitol  rotunda  well  enough  to  recognize  me,  yet 
when  I  had  succeeded  in  getting  him  to  look  in  my  di- 
rection, I  was  so  startled  that  I  nearly  dropped  my  rifle. 

He  paused  and  gazed  at  me  intently,  as  if  trying  to 
remember  something.  I  shook  like  a  leaf  in  the  wind. 
To  say  that  I  was  embarrassed  is  no  name  for  it.  The 
incident  was  so  marked  as  even  to  attract  the  attention 
of  some  of  the  officers,  and  they  looked  at  me  as  if  I  was 
a  culprit,  for  I  suspect  that  they  thought  that  I  had  been 
doing  something  wrong  and  had  astonished  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States. 

I  therefore  felt  considerably  relieved  when  Mr.  Lin- 
coln renewed  his  steps  and  disappeared  in  the  tent.  He 
evidently  did  not  recognize  me,  and  yet  my  face  had 
apparently  awakened  some  recollection. 

The  corps  commanders  then  came  up  and  were  for- 
mally introduced  to  the  president  and  other  dignitaries 
and  to  the  ladies.  The  clinking  of  the  glasses  was  re- 
newed, and  it  was  still  in  progress  when  the  "second 
relief '  came  along  and  another  soldier  took  my  place. 

The  president  did  recognize  me,  but  could  not  at  the 
time  place  me.  The  proof  of  this  will  appear  later.  If 
I  could  have  had  recognition  from  him  then  and  there 


$10  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

it  would  have  been  of  immense  advantage  to  me.  I 
had  been  in  the  army  long  enough  already  to  appreciate 
the  advantage  of  "a  pull." 

We  had  become  quite  familiar  with  some  of  the  ad- 
joining regiments  of  our  brigade.  Frequent  calls  and 
visits  were  interchanged  between  the  men  from  differ- 
ent States  at  odd  hours.  That  night  I  spent  some  time 
in  the  camp  of  the  Third  Wisconsin. 

"Things  look  ticklish,"  said  one  of  them.  "That 
review  by  the  president  warn't  for  nothing." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  you  see,  pard,"  said  the  Wisconsin  man, 
"whenever  we  are  reviewed  by  the  big  guns,  that  means 
to  see  if  the  army  is  all  right  for  a  scrimmage.  I  never 
knowed  there  to  be  a  review  by  the  head  general  that 
we  didn't  have  to  git  afore  long.  And  when  the  presi- 
dent comes  to  see  how  things  are,  that  means  more  than 
something  ord'nary.  I  tell  you  there's  go  in'  to  be  a 
scrimmage,  and  afore  long  at  that." 

"Why,"  I  replied,  probably  in  the  effort  to  console 
myself,  "there  are  no  rebels  anywhere  around  here. 
No  enemy,  no  fight.  We  are  not  likely  to  have  a  bat- 
tle with  ourselves,  are  we?" 

"Don't  you  fret  yourself,  pard,"  he  replied;  "the 
rebels  may  not  be  very  near,  and  they  may  not  be  likely 
to  come  our  way.  But  what's  the  matter  with  our 
going  to  hunt  'em  up.  That's  what  we'll  likely  do 
afore  long.  Mind  what  I  say,  pard,  we  won't  be  here 
long.     You  can  bet  your  next  month's  pay  on  that." 

That  wasn't  very  consoling.  We  had  scarcely  recov- 
ered from  the  effects  of  one  battle,  and  that  ought  to  be 
enough  for  some  time.  In  fact,  I  had  had  enough  to 
last  me  for  the  remainder  of  the  war. 

It  struck  me  as  a  very  inconsiderate  proposition  on 
the  part  of  the  government  that  we  should  put  ourselves 
to  any  trouble  to  bunt  up  the  enemy  so  long  as  the 
enemy  was  not  bothering  us.  What  was  the  sense  of 
seeking  trouble?  If  the  rebels  came  our  way,  all  right. 
We  would  fight  them.  But  so  long  as  they  did  not 
molest  us,  what  was  the  odds?  Why  should  we  go  out 
of  our  way  to  get  into  trouble?  So  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned I  was  perfectly  willing  to  stay  right  there  on 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  211 

Maryland  Heights  for  the  whole  "three  years  unless 
sooner  discharged." 

The  readers  will  perhaps  get  the  impression  that  I 
was  no  fighter.  Well,  maybe  not.  But  I  can  say  one 
thing.  I  was  not  the  only  one.  There  were  lots  of 
other  fellows  who  thought  and  spoke  the  same  way  that 
I  did. 

Two  days  later  we  received  orders  to  get  ready  to 
break  camp. 

It  immediately  struck  me  that  the  Wisconsin  veteran 
was  right.  That  review  meant  something.  The  army 
had  been  found  in  fine  condition  and  ready  for  another 
engagement.  We  were  going  to  hunt  up  the  enemy 
and  give  him  another  tussle. 

Some  of  the  more  restless  men  were  glad  of  a  change 
of  some  sort,  but  I  would  have  preferred  to  have  re- 
mained just  then  at  Maryland  Heights. 

It  was  not  thought  that  we  would  move  for  several 
days,  but  on  the  night  of  the  29th  of  October  (this  was 
in  1862,  remember)  at  about  9  o'clock,  an  order  was 
whispered  around  camp  hurriedly  to  fill  in  for  a  march. 
It  was  also  reported  that  the  rebels  had  made  their  ap- 
pearance at  a  spot  a  good  deal  nearer  than  any  of  us 
imagined. 

Certainly  there  must  be  something  important  on 
hand  or  the  start  would  not  have  been  made  at  that 
late  hour  of  the  night. 

But  we  were  all  surprised,  after  we  had  gone  some 
distance,  to  find  that  we  were  retracing  our  steps,  and 
were  marching  back  over  the  same  roads  that  we  had 
come  when  we  came  from  the  battlefield  of  Antietam. 

Was  there  going  to  be  another  fight  on  the  same  bat- 
tle ground? 


312  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEEH. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

CAPTAIN   IRISH'S   BROTHER. 

Before  leaving  Maryland  Heights,  however,  let  me 
stop  to  relate  one  more  incident  that  happened  while  we 
were  in  camp  there. 

Captain  Irish's  watch,  sword,  papers  and  other  effects, 
taken  from  the  body  by  Sergeant  Heber  Wells,  were 
still  in  Wells'  possession.  Heber  was  with  the  regi- 
ment at  Maryland  Heights,  and  Lewis  Irish,  the  cap- 
tain's brother,  had  to  make  a  journey  thither  to  get 
them. 

Visitors  to  camp  could  not  come  and  leave  as  they 
chose  in  those  days,  but  were  obliged  to  wait  for  cir- 
cumstances. Frequently  they  were  compelled  to  wait 
in  camp  several  days  longer  than  they  wanted  to. 

Lewis  Irish  was  a  nervous,  timid  sort  of  a  man.  The 
deadliest  weapons  he  had  ever  handled  were  a  needle 
and  a  pair  of  shears.  He  was  a  man  of  peace  and  had 
an  inborn  abhorrence  and  horror  of  everything  apper- 
taining to  war. 

As  a  result  he  was  in  a  state  of  nervous  trepidation 
all  the  time  he  was  out  at  the  front,  although  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  there  was  really  no  more  danger  there  than 
there  was  in  the  staid  old  village  of  Hackensack,  where 
he  resided. 

Mr.  Irish  was  in  a  constant  fear  that  the  rebels  would 
pounce  upon  the  camps  at  any  moment.  One  member 
of  the  family  had  been  killed.  He  was  the  only  re- 
maining brother.  He  didn't  want  the  family  name  to 
become  extinct ! 

At  every  unusual  movement  Mr.  Irish  would  start. 
A  stray  shot  from  some  soldier  cleaning  his  gun  would 
put  him  in  a  quiver.  When  the  drum  beat  for  reveille, 
guard  mount  or  sick  call,  he  would  apparently  imagine 


T&E  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  -213 

that  it  was  the  long  roll  for  the  whole  army  to  fall  in 
line  of  battle. 

While  there  Lewis  Irish  "bunked"  with  Heber  Wells, 
of  course.  It  was  before  the  "pup"  tents  had  arrived, 
and  the  boys  had  rigged  up  all  sorts  of  outlandish  huts 
"to  keep  off  the  dew,"  as  they  expressed  it. 

Heber' s  hut,  like  many  others,  was  made  of  poles 
and  cedar  boughs.  A  couple  of  poles  with  notches  on 
the  ends,  like  clothes  poles,  perhaps  six  or  seven  feet  in 
length,  were  driven  into  the  ground  about  ten  or  twelve 
feet  apart.  Across  these  was  laid  a  ridgepole.  From 
this,  and  slanting  down  to  one  side,  the  other  end  rest- 
ing on  the  ground,  were  laid  a  lot  of  other  poles,  as  close 
together  as  possible. 

This  formed  the  framework  for  a  rude  sort  of  shed< 
The  roof  was  composed  of  cedar  branches  and  boughs, 
and  the  ground  was  covered  with  the  same  thing  for  a 
bedding.  This  arrangement  was  of  course  perfectly 
useless  in  case  of  rain,  but  it  sheltered  the  occupants 
from  the  wind  and  was  more  comfortable  than  sleeping 
out-of-doors  entirely. 

The  occupants  crawled  in  as  far  as  possible  when  go- 
ing to  bed,  so  that  their  heads  were  near  the  side  where 
the  roof  came  down  to  the  ground.  There  wasn't  much 
space  over  the  heads  of  the  sleepers.  When  they 
wanted  to  get  out  they  had  to  carefully  back  out  before 
attempting  to  rise. 

It  was  this  peculiar  characteristic  of  the  improvised 
shed  or  hut  that  caused  the  mishap  and  scare  that  Mr. 
Irish  sustained  the  last  night  he  was  in  camp.  It  was 
quite  a  cool  night,  and  he  and  Wells  had  snuggled  them- 
selves tightly  under  the  blankets  in  the  furthermost  end 
of  the  shed  to  escape  the  cold  wind  that  was  sweeping 
through. 

Either  the  lobscouse  for  supper  or  else  perhaps  some 
of  the  rich  pound  cake  from  home,  had  disagreed  with 
Heber's  internal  department.  Like  Tit-Willow,  maybe 
he  "had  a  rather  tough  worm  in  his  little  inside."  At 
all  events,  in  the  middle  of  the  night  he  had  a  very  bad 
attack  of  nightmare. 

All  who  had  taken  part  in  the  battle  of  Antietam 
were  still  thinking  of  the  horrible  sights  during  the  day 


2H  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

and  dreaming  of  it  at  night.  The  visit  of  Mr.  Irish  and 
the  conversation  about  the  death  of  the  captain  had  per- 
haps renewed  the  scene  in  Heber's  mind,  and  probably 
he  fell  asleep  while  thinking  about  it.  When  he  had 
the  nightmare  he  thought  that  he  was  again  in  the 
battle. 

Heber  suddenly  arose  in  his  sleep,  and  throwing  off 
the  blankets,  rushed  to  the  company  street  and  began 
yelling  at  the  top  of  his  voice : 

"Hello,  Hank,  get  the  men  out  at  once!  Where's 
Dougherty?  Get  the  men  out  quick,  for  the  rebels  are 
right  on  top  of  us !  For  heaven's  sake,  hurry,  men,  or 
we'll  all  be  captured!  Where's  Hank  Van  Orden? 
Where's  Sam  Dougherty?  Why  don't  they  get  out  the 
men?     Fall  in,  Company  K!" 

Wells  yelled  this  out  with  such  a  loud  voice  that  it 
aroused  the  entire  company.  Hank  Van  Orden  ran 
half-dressed  from  his  hut  and  grasped  Wells  around  the 
waist,  asking  what  was  the  matter.  The  other  men  were 
hastily  buckling  on  their  cartridge  boxes  and  seizing 
their  rifles.  For  a  few  moments  there  was  a  scene  of 
the  greatest  excitement,  and  even  the  members  of  some 
of  the  other  companies  were  aroused  by  the  hullaballoo. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  Heber  awakened,  for  he  had 
been  fast  asleep  all  this  time  and  did  not  have  the  slight- 
est idea  of  what  he  was  doing,  and  perhaps  was  as 
much  astonished  as  any  of  the  rest  of  them  till  an  ex- 
planation was  made. 

But  the  funniest  part  of  it  all  was  the  experience  of 
Lewis  Irish,  the  deceased  captain's  brother. 

Hearing  all  the  noise  Mr.  Irish  sprang  from  his  bed 
and  attempted  to  jump  to  his  feet.  In  doing  so  his  head 
came  in  contact  with  the  low  roof  of  the  shed,  and  gave 
him  such  a  blow  that  it  felled  him.  He  was  nearly 
knocked  senseless. 

Irish  thought  that  we  were  surrounded  by  the  enemy 
and  that  a  rebel  had  hit  him  a  blow  over  the  head  with 
the  butt  end  of  a  rifle.  He  thought  that  his  day  had 
come  sure.     He  rushed  out  of  the  hut,  exclaiming : 

"Oh,  Heber,  what  shall  I  do?  Where  shall  I  go? 
Give  me  a  pistol  or  a  gun,  so  that  I  can  defend  myself! 
Which  way  is  the  enemy  coming?  Where's  the  on© 
that  hit  me  on  the  head?" 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  216 

Wells  had  sufficiently  recovered  his  sense3  to  take  in 
the  situation,  and  undertook  to  pacify  Mr.  Irish.  But 
he  was  too  excited  to  be  quieted  at  once. 

"Quick,  quick,  Heber!"  he  exclaimed.  "Tell  me 
what  to  do !  I  can't  stay  here !  I  am  not  a  combatant. 
I  am  a  citizen.  I've  no  place  here.  Where  shall  I  go? 
What  shall  I  do?    What " 

"That's  all  right,  Irish,"  said  Heber,  trying  to  reas- 
sure him.  "There's  no  danger.  There  are  no  rebels 
round  here.  I  only  had  an  attack  of  nightmare  or 
something  of  the  sort.  You'd  better  get  back  to  bed 
again,  for  there  are  no  rebels  within  miles  of  here." 

"Yes,  there  is.  Yes,  there  is,"  insisted  Mr.  Irish. 
"One  of  the  scoundrels  hit  me  on  the  head  and  almost 
killed  me.     I'm  bleeding  now  from  it." 

Heber  lighted  a  candle,  and  sure  enough  the  blood 
wae  streaming  from  quite  a  serious  wound  on  Mr.  Irish's 
head.  How  it  happened  no  one  seemed  able  to  guess  at 
the  time.  A  search  was  made  around  that  part  of  the 
camp  to  see  if  there  were  any  strangers  lurking  around, 
but  nothing  unusual  could  be  discovered.  The  mystery 
remained  unsolved  until  after  Mr.  Irish's  head  had  been 
bandaged  up  and  quiet  restored,  and  Wells  and  his  vis- 
itor pioceeded  to  return  to  bed. 

Then  they  found  that  immediately  above  the  blankets 
where  Irish  had  lain  the  poles  of  the  low  roof  had  been 
knocked  out  of  place  where  Irish's  head  had  come  in 
contact  with  them.  On  one  of  the  poles  was  a  project- 
ing knob  where  a  small  branch  had  been  cut  off,  and 
th?s  had  some  hair  and  a  particle  of  blood  on  it.  The 
color  of  the  hair  corresponded  with  that  on  Mr.  Irish's 
head.  That  was  the  place  where  he  had  bumped  his 
head  as  he  sprang  from  his  bed.  It  had  been  a  hard 
knock,  too,  for  the  wound  on  Mr.  Irish's  head  the  next 
morning  was  large  and  painful. 

But  for  the  time  being  Mr.  Irish  thought  sure  that  he 
had  been  hit  in  the  head  with  a  musket  in  the  hands  of 
a  rebel.  And  no  wonder.  The  startling  yells  and 
orders  from  Orderly  Sergeant  Wells  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  were  enough  to  frighten  almost  anybody. 
Wells  often  laughed  about  the  occurrence  afterward. 
As  for  Mr.  Irish,  he  had  had  enough  of  war.     He 


216  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  not  remain  in  the  front 
another  night  if  he  had  to  walk  all  the  way  to  Balti- 
more. But,  fortunately,  he  managed  to  get  transporta- 
tion that  day  and  left  for  home,  and  never  so  long  as  the 
war  lasted  did  he  again  venture  to  the  front. 

Many  a  time  afterward,  before  he  died,  a  few  years 
since,  he  laughingly  referred  to  the  adventure,  and  can- 
didly admitted  that  for  a  little  while  he  thought  that 
his  earthly  career  was  at  an  end.  He  thought  sure  that 
the  camp  was  surrounded  by  rebels  and  that  one  of 
them  had  hit  him  on  the  head  with  the  butt  end  of  a 
musket. 

"But  what's  the  difference?"  he  often  asked.  "What 
difference  does  it  make  whether  a  man  has  his  brains 
knocked  out  by  the  butt  end  of  a  musket  or  the  gable 
end  of  a  house?" 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  817 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE    FIEST    THING   I    KILLED. 

The  march  on  the  night  that  we  left  Harper's  Ferry 
was  one  of  the  hardest  the  Thirteenth  ever  experienced. 
I  could  neArer  see  the  necessity  for  it.  There  was  no 
need  of  any  such  hurry.  We  were  not  going  to  get  into 
a  fight,  despite  the  predictions  of  my  friend  in  the  Wis- 
consin regiment.  We  were  only  going  back  to  Sharps- 
burg  to  relieA-e  the  troops  of  General  Fitz-John  Porter, 
who  were  doing  duty  as  pickets  along  the  Potomac 
River  opposite  Sheperdstown. 

The  entire  Army  of  the  Potomac,  with  the  exception 
of  the  Eleventh  and  Twelfth  corps,  had  crossed  the  river 
and  started  over  into  Virginia,  in  pursuit  of  the  enemy, 
while  the  two  corps  mentioned  were  left  behind  to  guard 
"Harper's  Ferry  and  the  Potomac  River."  The 
Eleventh  corps  had  taken  our  place  at  Harper's  Ferry, 
and  we — that  is,  the  Twelfth  corps — were  sent  further 
up  the  river.  That  there  were  some  rebels  in  that 
neighborhood  we  soon  found  out. 

But  as  said  before  there  was  no  necessity,  so  far  as  we 
could  ever  see,  for  the  impetuous  and  hasty  character  of 
that  night's  march.  Many  of  the  men  fell  out  from 
sheer  fatigue.  While  at  Maryland  Heights  the  most  of 
us  had  got  new  knapsacks,  and  despite  experience  had 
again  loaded  ourselves  down  with  various  useful 
things  in  camp,  but  altogether  too  much  to  carry  on  the 
march. 

The  result  of  this  was  that  the  road  was  again  strewn 
with  all  sorts  of  things  which  we  would  soon  need  very 
much.  Had  we  marched  a  little  more  slowly  we  might 
have  retained  all  these  necessities.  There  were  few  who 
stuck   to  their  loads.      When   we  reached  our  camp, 


218  THE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER. 

somewhere  near  morning,  we  were  almost  devoid  of 
everything  except  our  blankets  and  shelter  or  "pup" 
tents.  And  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  season  was 
advancing  and  the  nights  were  becoming  uncomfortably- 
chilly. 

We  went  into  camp  near  Sharpsburg,  within  but  a 
short  distance  of  the  Antietam  battlefield.  Our  duties 
consisted  mainly  of  picket  duty  along  the  Potomac 
River.  It  was  the  first  time  we  had  ever  been  on  picket 
immediately  in  front  of  the  enemy. 

The  rebels  were  on  one  side  of  the  river  and  we  were 
on  the  other ;  we  could  see  each  other  plainly.  The  river 
is  narrow  at  that  point,  and  when  the  water  is  low  one 
can  wade  across,  or  step  from  stone  to  stone.  At  the 
time  we  were  there  the  stones  at  the  bottom  could  not 
be  seen,  but  the  river  was  shallow  enough  to  wade 
across. 

On  one  side  of  the  river  was  the  Chesapeake  and  Ohio 
canal.  This  was  the  side  we  were  on.  The  towpath 
was  between  the  canal  and  the  river.  Between  the  tow- 
path  and  the  river  there  was  an  embankment,  and  at 
various  spots  there  were  trees  growing. 

Our  picket  posts  were  supposed  to  be  on  the  tow-path. 
Where  there  were  trees  we  got  beh  ind  them.  In  other 
places  we  got  down  on  the  water  side  of  the  canal  and 
behind  the  protection  afforded  by  the  sloping  banks. 
There  was  not  much  water  in  the  canal  at  that  time,  for 
there  were  no  boats  running  then. 

These  protections  were  very  useful,  for  the  rebels  on 
the  other  side  of  the  river  kept  popping  away  at  us 
whenever  they  got  a  chance,  and  we  fired  back  every 
time  we  saw  an  exposed  head  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river.  We  had  no  change  of  pickets  at  night  for  a  while, 
because  of  this  danger.  The  sergeant  and  his  squad  of 
men  would  remain  behind  the  protecting  trees  and  em- 
bankment as  long  as  it  was  daylight. 

I  remember  one  day  while  on  picket  with  John  But- 
terworth.  We  were  both  down  in  the  ditch  of  the 
canal. 

"I  wonder  if  there  are  any  Johnnies  on  the  other  side 
now,  anyway,"  he  said.  The  rebels  were  always  re- 
ferred to  as  the  "Johnnies,"  The  enemy  invariably 
called  us  the  "Yanks." 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  219 

"You'd  better  look  out,  Jack,"  I  replied.  " Don't 
run  any  risks  with  that  cocoanut  of  yours." 

"I'm  going  to  take  a  peep,  anj-how,"  said  John. 
And  so  saying  he  raised  up  his  head  so  that  his  eyes 
were  just  over  the  level  of  the  towpath. 

"Z-z-z-z-ip!" 

A  bullet  whistled  by,  uncomfortably  close  to  Butter- 
worth's  head.  You  would  have  laughed  to  see  him 
dodge.     His  head  went  down  as  if  he  had  been  shot ! 

"By  jingo,  Joe,"  said  he.  "I  could  feel  the  wind  of 
that  bullet  in  my  hair.  I  guess  there  are  some  John- 
nies over  there  after  all. ' ' 

"No  doubt  of  that,  Jack,"  said  I.  "But  say,  wait  a 
minute  and  see  some  fun." 

With  that  I  took  off  my  hat  and  placed  it  on  the  end 
of  my  rifle.  Then  I  slowly  lifted  it  up  as  if  a  soldier 
was  taking  another  peep  over  the  towpath. 

"Zip!"  came  another  bullet.  It  came  near  my  cap, 
but  did  not  touch  it.  I  drew  the  hat  down  quickly,  as 
if  the  wearer  were  dodging,  and  a  moment  later  stuck 
the  hat  up  again. 

Another  bullet,  two,  three,  came  whistling  by,  and 
one  of  them  went  plump  through  my  cap. 

"Pretty  good  shooters  over  there,  Joe,"  said  John. 
"It's  a  good  thing  your  head  was  not  in  the  hat  then, 
or  you  would  have  been  a  goner,  sure." 

"If  my  head  had  been  in  that  hat  I  wouldn't  have 
held  it  there,  you  know.  I  merely  wanted  to  see  if 
there  was  any  danger  of  those  fellows  hitting  anybody. 
That  settles  it.  I  don't  stick  my  head  out  there,  in  the 
daytime,  you  bet." 

"Nor  I,  neither,"  said  John. 

I  relate  this  to  show  the  dangerous  nature  of  the  duty 
we  were  performing.  In  unguarded  moments  two  or 
three  of  our  men  came  near  being  shot,  but  the  bullets 
missed  their  mark. 

It  was  most  nonsensical  sort  of  business,  but  then  a 
soldier  in  the  war  is  generally  like  the  Irishman  at 
Donnybrook  fair.  Whenever  he  saw  a  head  he  struck 
at  it. 

In  the  night  time  one  could  walk  along  the  tow  path 
with    comparative  impunity.     The  rebels  would  fire 


220  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER 

random  shots  occasionally,  but  there  wasn't  much 
danger  of  their  hitting  anything  in  the  dark.  The 
grand  rounds  visited  us  and  the  officers  of  the  guard 
very  sensibly  inspected  the  outer  posts  in  the  night 
time. 

This  desultory  shooting  at  each  other's  pickets  from 
the  opposite  sides  of  the  river  was  kept  up  for  some  time, 
and  it  was  a  constant  nuisance  and  bother,  let  alone  the 
dangerous  part  of  it.  It  was  very  uncomfortable  to 
patrol  a  beat  on  the  inside  of  a  canal  bank.  It  was  ex- 
asperating to  see  the  river  so  close  and  yet  impossible  to 
get  down  to  it. 

The  first  night  I  was  on  picket  here  I  had  an  adven- 
ture. 

It  was  after  midnight  and  the  night  was  very  dark, 
For  the  reasons  before  stated  there  was  no  apparent 
danger  then  and  I  was  walking  along  the  tow  path  with 
my  rifle  carelessly  hanging  over  my  arm. 

All  of  a  sudden  I  heard  something  creeping  through 
the  bushes  near  me. 

"Halt!"  I  cried,  in  the  orthodox  way.  "Who  comes 
there!" 

But  not  a  word  came  in  answer.  On  the  contrary  the 
mysterious  personage  kept  coming  toward  me.  I  felt 
my  hair  raise  in  terror. 

"Halt!"  I  repeated,  still  more  peremptorily,  at  the 
same  time  cocking  my  rifle  in  readiness  to  shoot. 

But  it  didn't  halt  for  a  cent. 

I  imagined  all  sorts  of  things — spies,  midnight  assas- 
sins, guerrillas,  rebels  detailed  to  go  around  and  kill  in- 
dividual soldiers,  everything  horrible.  That  it  was 
anything  else  than  a  man  I  never  for  a  moment  imag- 
ined. 

It  became  my  plain  duty  to  shoot.  And  yet  then  and 
there,  under  the  extenuating  circumstances  that  existed, 
I  distinctly  remember  a  horror  at  the  idea  of  taking  the 
life  of  a  human  being.     It  gave  me  the  chills. 

But  something  must  be  done,  and  done  quickly.  If 
I  didn't  shoot  it,  it  would  shoot  or  knife  me,  and  so 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  take  the  best  aim  I  could 
and  blaze  away. 

How  I  managed  to  hit  the  mark  in  the  darkness  pf 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  221 

the  night  I  don't  know.  But  I  did.  It  rolled  over, 
struggled  a  moment  and  was  still. 

I  was  too  much  agitated  to  go  and  see  who  or  what  it 
was.  I  didn't  want  to  gaze  upon  the  creature  whose 
death  I  had  caused.     So  I  yelled  at  the  top  of  my  voice : 

"Corporal  of  the  guard — post  No.  10!" 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  the  corporal,  as  he  came 
running  up,  out  of  breath. 

"I — I — I've  shot  a  man,"  I  stuttered.  "He  was 
sneaking  up  to  me  and  would  not  stop  when  I  hollered 
'halt'  three  times,  and  so  I  shot  him.    See  if  he  is  dead." 

The  corporal  proceeded  to  make  an  examination. 

"Yes,  he  is  dead.     Dead  as  a  door  nail." 

I  thought  I  should  faint.  Dead !  I  had  killed  a  fel- 
low mortal.  Horrible !  In  battle  you  shot,  and  didn't 
know  whether  your  individual  gun  had  killed  an}7body 
or  not.  There  is  a  consoling  uncertainty  about  it. 
But  the  thought  ihat  you,  with  your  own  gun,  with 
your  own  hand,  have  been  the  cause  of  the  death  of  any- 
body, is  a  terrible  thing. 

When  the  corporal  came  toward  me  pulling  the  dead 
body  behind  him,  I  wanted  to  run  away,  but  of  course 
could  not. 

"I'll  share  this  with  you  in  the  morning,  pard,"  said 
the  corporal.  "We  will  have  a  dandy  dinner  to- 
morrow." 

Dinner  to-morrow!  What  did  the  corporal  mean? 
Eat  a  human  being? 

"Do  you  take  me  for  a  cannibal?"  I  asked,  in  aston- 
ishment. 

"A  cannibal?    What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"I  mean  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  eat  the  man  I 
have  killed?" 

With  that  the  corporal  broke  out  in  a  fit  of  laughter 
that  I  thought  very  uncalled-for  under  the  circum- 
stances. 

"A  good  joke,  by  thunder!"  said  he,  as  soon  as  he 
could  recover  his  voice.  "And  did  you  really  think 
you  had  shot  a  man?" 

"Why,  of  course  I  did,"  I  answered.     "What  else?" 

"Take  a  look  at  the  'man'  you  have  killed,"  said  he, 
throwing  the  corpse  toward  me, 


222  riEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

I  leaned  down  ^,nd  examined  it.  Then  I  felt  of  it. 
Then  I  lifted  the  body  up,  and  broke  out  into  laughter 
myself.  I  was  a  little  hysterical,  too.  The  sudden 
revulsion  of  feeling  was  the  cause,  for  the  body  before 
me  was  not  that  of  a  man. 

It  was  only  a  'possum ! 


THE  TOUN&    VOLUNTEER.  223 


CHAPTER  XL. 

YANKS   AND   JOHNNIES. 

Sure  enough,  we  had  'possum  for  dinner  the  next 
day,  in  a  savory  stew.  'Possum  tastes  a  little  like  very 
3roung  pork,  but  has  a  much  finer  flavor.  We  relished 
it  immensely,  particularly  as  it  was  the  first  time  the 
most  of  us  had  ever  tasted  'possum. 

The  incident  was  duplicated  many  a  time,  for  'pos- 
sum was  very  plentiful  in  that  part  of  the  country,  and 
scarcely  a  night  passed  but  that  the  men  on  picket  saw 
one  or  more.  They  generally  traveled  at  night.  Of 
course  the  size  of  a  'possum  was  nothing  to  be  compared 
with  a  man,  but  in  the  darkness  I  could  not  see  what  it 
was,  and  I  was  terribly  frightened  and  overcome  for  the 
few  moments  that  I  really  thought  I  had  killed  a  human 
being. 

Here  let  me  tell  the  reader  something  strange.  Experi- 
ence afterward  made  us  very  suspicious  of  a  calf  or  a 
large  pig  creeping  past  us  at  night.  Spies  and  scouts 
used  to  take  calf  hides  and  complete  pig  skins,  and  get- 
ting inside  of  them,  crawl  past  the  picket  lines.  More 
than  one  supposed  pig  or  calf  has  been  shot  and  the 
body  of  a  man  found  inside  the  hide. 

Wolves  travel  in  sheep's  clothing,  according  to  the 
Good  Book.  The  little  school  geographies  we  had  in 
the  primary  departments  invariably  had  pictures  of 
Indians  in  wolf's  skin  crawling  toward  the  unsuspect- 
ing buffaloes  In  war  times  all  such  devices  are  re- 
sorted to  by  the  scouts  to  get  past  the  picket  lines. 

About  a  week  later  I  was  on  picket  again,  at  pretty 
near  the  same  place.  The  rebels  had  continued  their 
popping  at  every  Union  soldier's  head  that  they  saw, 
and  the  Union  soldiers  had  been  keeping  up  their  side 
in  this  nonsensical  individual  warfare.     But  one  day 


£24  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

we  were  astonished  by  an  unusual  sign  on  the  other  side 
of  the  river. 

It  was  a  white  handkerchief — or  rather  a  handker- 
chief that  had  once  been  white — held  up  on  the  end  of  a 
bayonet. 

A  white  flag  is  a  "flag  of  truce.'"  It  means  a  cessa- 
tion of  hostilities.  If  the  other  side  agrees  to  the  truce, 
an  answering  white  signal  is  set.  We  had  some  trouble 
to  find  anything  white  enough  to  serve  as  a  flag,  and 
finally  resorted  to  a  small  muslin  bag  that  one  of  the 
boys  had  in  his  haversack  to  hold  his  sugar. 

A  very  dirty-looking  rebel  then  stepped  out,  and  hold- 
ing his  hands  to  his  mouth  like  a  speaking-trumpet, 
yelled  out: 

"Hey,  Yank!" 

"Hey,  Johnnie!"  was  our  reply. 

"Will  you  stop  shootin'  if  we-uns  do?" 

"We  will." 

"All  right.     We-uns' 11  send  you  a  message." 

"How?" 

"Wait'n  you'll  see." 

We  waited.  We  could  see  three  or  four  of  the  dirty 
gray  backs  doing  something  down  at  the  edge  of  the 
river,  but  could  not  see  what  it  was,  when  something 
like  a  long,  little  boat  started  across. 

It  was  a  very  ingenious  arrangement. 

A  fence  rail,  one  side  of  which  was  round  and  the 
other  side  flat,  made  something  very  much  the  shape  of 
a  boat.  At  intervals  were  stuck  twigs,  for  masts.  On 
the  masts  were  sails  made  of  paper.  At  the  rear  end  of 
the  rail  was  an  improvised  rudder. 

The  man  who  concocted  this  arrangement,  and  ad- 
justed the  sails  and  rudder  must  have  been  a  sailor  at 
some  time  in  his  life,  for  the  gentle  breeze  that  pre- 
vailed at  the  time  brought  it  straight  as  if  it  had  been 
manned  by  human  sailors. 

We  went  down  to  the  side  of  the  river  and  caught  the 
queer  little  ferryboat  as  it  landed. 

On  one  of  the  masts  was  a  sheet  of  paper  folded  up. 
Opening  it,  it  was  found  to  be  the  "message."  It  read, 
as  nearly  as  I  can  remember  it  after  so  many  years, 
about  as  follows : 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  225 

"Yanks  :  If  you  fellers  stop  a-sbootin  we-uns  will  stop 
a  shootin.  Whats  the  sens  of  us  a  shootin  at  each 
uther?  Lets  be  a  little  sochibul.  Have  you  fellers  any 
coffie  what  you'd  like  to  swap  for  some  tobaccy?  We- 
uns  has  plenty  tobaccy  but  no  cofee,  and  we-uns  knows 
what  you  fellers  has  lots  of  cofee  and  no  tobaccy.  Send 
anser  by  bote.  Shift  the  sales  and  the  ruder  tother 
way,  and  she'll  come  over  all  right.  Hoping  these  fu 
lines  will  find  you  enjying  good  helth,  we  subscrib 
oursels  yours  truly.  Johnny.  ' ' 

Anything  for  a  lark.  Here  was  a  chance  seldom 
offered.     It  struck  me  very  strangely. 

All  along  I  had  regarded  the  rebels  as  something  in- 
human. I  cannot  exactly  explain  it,  but  all  of  a  sudden 
it  came  to  me  that  here  were  fellow  human  beings  on 
the  other  side,  who  as  individuals  were  no  more  con- 
cerned m  the  war  than  we  were,  who  were  willing  to 
stop  the  practice  of  killing  on  sight,  and  anxious  to 
strike  a  common-sense,  everyday  barter. 

The  impression  such  an  event  gave  to  the  private  sol- 
diers was  that  the  war  was  a  useless  and  uncalled-for 
affair,  and  might  as  well  be  stopped  then  and  there.  It 
is  impossible  to  convey  to  the  reader  the  precise  emo- 
tions aroused.  Somehow  everything  that  had  passed 
slipped  entirely  from  the  memory,  and  awakened  a  dim, 
unaccountable,  indefinable  vision  of  the  way  things 
might  be  if  peace  were  declared. 

But  we  didn't  stop  to  reflect  or  moralize.  We  had 
plenty  of  coffee,  as  the  rebels  had  surmised,  and  were 
willing  to  share  with  the  enemy,  especially  as  it  was  al- 
ways reported  that  the  rebels  had  an  unlimited  supply 
of  tobacco  of  a  superior  quality. 

So  we  tied  up  in  an  old  piece  of  paper  as  much  coffee 
as  it  would  hold,  each  man  contributing  his  quota,  and 
fastened  it  to  the  "boat."  We  also  wrote  a  return 
"message,"  and  stuck  it  on  one  of  the  tiny  masts.  As 
near  as  I  can  remember  the  message  ran  something  like 
this: 

"Johnnies  :  We  send  you  some  coffee;  now  send  the 
tobacco.     We  will  stop  shooting  at  your  hats  if  you  will 


226  THE  YOUNQ    VOLUNTEER. 

do  the  same.     What  is  the  use,  as  you  say?     If  you  fel- 
lows go  back  on  your  word,  now,  look  out. 

"Yanks." 

I  wrote  the  original  of  that  letter,  and  so  have  a  pretty 
clear  remembrance  of  what  was  in  it.  I  remember  dis- 
tinctly that  I  signed  it  "Yanks,"  the  same  as  they  had 
addressed  us. 

We  adjusted  the  sails  and  rudder  of  the  little  craft  as 
suggested  and  sent  the  comical  ferryboat  on  its  journey 
across  the  river.  But  somehow  or  other  we  did  not  fix 
the  nautical  tackle  right,  and  instead  of  going  across,  as 
intended,  the  improvised  boat  suddenly  turned  down 
stream  and  started  in  the  direction  of  Harper's  Ferry  in 
a  lively  manner. 

If  that  message  had  got  into  the  hands  of  some  of  the 
officers  it  might  have  caused  us  trouble,  for  to  "hold 
communication  with  the  enemy"  was  a  grave  offense 
— a  good  deal  more  grave  than  any  of  us  appreciated  at 
the  moment. 

But  no  such  disaster  happened.  The  rail  boat  had 
not  gone  far  before  one  of  the  rebels  jumped  into  the 
river  and  waded  out  to  the  little  craft  and  carried  it  to 
the  Virginia  side  of  the  river.  The  water  was  not  very 
deep.     It  was  hardly  up  to  the  "Johnny's"  hips. 

We  could  see  them  open  the  message  and  read  it,  and 
there  was  a  scramble  between  them  for  a  division  of 
the  coveted  coffee.  In  a  little  while  they  sent  the  boat 
back  again  with  some  smoking  tobacco  that  was  excel- 
lent, and  which  we  greatly  appreciated.  There  was  no 
message  this  time.  One  of  the  rebels  shouted  across  the 
water  that  they  had  no  more  paper. 

But  it  was  not  a  great  distance  across  the  river  and 
we  could  talk  to  each  other  in  a  somewhat  loud  voice. 
This  sort  of  a  conversation  was  not  very  satisfactory, 
however,  but  it  ended  in  a  somewhat  startling  proposi- 
tion from  "our  friends,  the  enemy." 

It  was,  if  we  would  receive  them  in  the  same  spirit 
in  which  they  came,  they  would  come  over  the  river 
after  dark  and  have  a  "chin"  with  us. 

We  counseled  among  ourselves  about  thia.  It  was 
a  rather  risky  proposition — not  so  much  that  we  would 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  227 

be  captured  by  the  rebels  or  that  they  would  take  some 
other  advantage  of  it,  but  that  we  might  be  caught  by 
some  of  the  officers,  with*disastrous  results. 

But  we  finally  decided  to  take  the  risk,  and  the  ar- 
rangement was  that  our  visitors  should  come  over  im- 
mediately after  the  "first  relief"  went  on  their  posts — 
that  is  at  9  o'clock. 

And  so  the  programme  was  carried  out.  The  first 
relief  had  hardly  taken  the  place  of  the  third,  when  we 
heard  the  quiet  splashing  of  the  water  from  the  little 
group  of  rebels  wading  over  to  us. 


228  -.        TEE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

OUR  FRIENDS  THE  ENEMY. 

For  a  picket  post  to  hold  communication  with  the 
pickets  of  the  enemy  is  one  of  the  things  most  emphat- 
ically forbidden  by  the  articles  of  war.  But  that  it  was 
done  many  times  during  the  course  of  the  war  is  unmis- 
takable. There  is  many  an  old  soldier  who  can  testify 
to  the  fact  from  his  own  personal  experience. 

If  any  of  us  thought  of  the  magnitude  of  the  offense 
he  did  not  mention  it.  I  know  for  myself,  there  was  no 
idea  of  doing  anything  wrong.  It  was  merely  a  little 
novelty  that  tended  to  relieve  the  terrible  monotony  of 
picket  duty,  and  consequently  simply  regarded  as  a  wel- 
come diversion. 

There  were  six  in  the  party  of  rebels  that  came  across 
the  river.  There  were  twelve  or  fifteen  on  our  side,  so 
that  there  was  no  danger  of  a  capture  or  anything  of 
that  sort — at  least  so  far  as  we  were  concerned.  The 
greatest  manifestation  of  trust  and  good  faith  bad  cer- 
tainly been  on  the  part  of  the  "Johnnies,"  in  the  way 
they  had  put  themselves  in  our  power. 

They  had  further  shown  their  trust  by  leaving  their 
guns  behind  them.  They  were  completely  in  our  power 
if  we  had  wanted  to  be  mean.  But  we  never  thought  of 
such  a  thing  as  that. 

"Hello,  Yanks,"  said  the  spokesman,  as  he  came  up 
dripping  from  the  water.  "That  was  mighty  good 
coffee  you-uns  sent  we-uns." 

That  was  a  Southern  provincialism  that  may  strike 
the  reader  as  funny,  but  it  was  used  almost  exclusively 
in  conversation  on  the  part  of  the  majority  of  men  in 
the  rebel  army.  They  always  said  "you-uns"  for 
"you,"  and  "we-uns"  for  "we"  or  "us." 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  229 

"Hello,  Johnnies,"  replied  one  of  our  boys,  "and  that 
was  good  tobacco  you  sent  us  in  return.  It  was  the 
best  we  have  had  in  a  long  while." 

"Yes,  we  know  the  kind  of  tobaccy  you-uns  have.  It 
comes  from  Baltimore,  don't  it?" 

We  told  them  that  they  had  guessed  right. 

"We-uns  gets  our  tobaccy  from  Virginny  crop,  put 
up  in  Richmond — the  best  in  the  whole  world.  You- 
uns  don't  get  much  o'  that  nowadays.  You-uns'  tobaccy 
is  from  Maryland,  I  reckon." 

We  told  the  spokesman  that  we  didn't  know  anything 
about  it,  except  that  it  came  from  Baltimore. 

"Where  be  you-uns  from?"  asked  the  rebel  spokes- 
man. 

We  told  him.  We  represented  several  Northern 
States.  In  return  they  told  us  that  they  were  from  all 
the  way  from  Virginia  to  Texas. 

We  sat  down  on  the  canal  bank,  and  lighted  our  pipes. 
There  was  a  fire  on  the  canal  side  of  the  bank,  which 
we  had  lighted  for  the  first  time  after  the  agreement  not 
to  indulge  in  any  more  shooting.  We  boiled  some 
coffee  and  proceeded  to  have  a  regular  picnic. 

Both  sides  were  a  little  guarded  in  the  conversation 
at  first,  so  as  not  to  give  offense  to  each  other.  But  on 
the  general  topic  of  the  war  we  had  a  nice  talk. 

"How  long  do  you-uns  think  this  thing's  agoin'  to 
last?"  asked  one  of  the  rebels. 

"Till  you  fellows  give  up,"  replied  I  banteringly. 

"If  we-uns  had  our  way,"  replied  the  Johnnie,  "it 
wouldn't  be  long  afore  that  happened.  We'uns  is  good 
and  sick  of  it.  If  it  weren't  for  the  officers  and  the  pol- 
erticians,  it  would  be  settled  mighty  soon,  I  reckon." 

"There  is  something  in  that,"  I  answered.  "But 
you  all  know  we  of  the  North  are  fighting  for  the  Union, 
which  you  want  to  destroy." 

"We  don't  want  to  destroy  nothin',"  answered  the 
rebel.     "We'uns  don't  want  to  destroy  the  Union." 

"Then  what  are  you  fighting  for?"  I  asked. 

"  'Cause  we  have  to,"  was  the  answer.  "You-uns 
don't  suppose  we  would  be  here  if  they  didn't  make  us 
come,  do  you?  Didn't  they  make  you-uns  come  to  fight 
the  same  way?" 


230  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

"No,  we  didn't  have  to  come,"  I  replied.  "  We  en- 
listed of  our  own  accord.     We  volunteered,  you  know." 

"What,  went  into  the  army  and  didn't  have  to?" 

"That's  as  true  as  gospel." 

"Well,  I'll  be  derned,"  exclaimed  the  astonished 
rebel.  "If  we'uns  didn't  have  to  come  I'll  reckon  there 
wouldn't  be  many  of  us  in  the  front.  Of  course  there's 
some  of  'em  what  came  at  the  first  because  they  didn't 
want  the  Northern  ablishionists  to  free  our  niggers. 
That's  what  the  war's  for,  isn't  it?" 

Now  I  am  willing  to  affirm  that  that  is  the  first  time 
I  ever  had  any  idea  that  the  abolition  of  slavery  had 
anything  to  do  with  the  war.  And  from  the  exclama- 
tions and  denials  of  my  comrades  I  do  not  think  any  of 
them  ever  dreamed  of  such  a  thing.  We  vehemently 
protested  against  this  view  of  the  case  and  so  told  our 
strange  guests.  But  they  could  not  be  shaken  in  their 
belief  that  the  freedom  of  the  slaves  was  one  of  the 
essential  causes  of  the  war. 

"That's  what  we'uns  believes,  anyhow,"  said  the 
spokesman  of  the  party.  "Now,  see  here.  You-uns 
have  factories  and  railroads  and  such  like.  Suppose 
we-uns  went  for  to  destroy  all  them,  wouldn't  you  fight 
agin  it?" 

"I  think  we  certainly  should,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  then,"  continued  the  rebel  spokesman,  "we- 
uns  have  no  factories  and  few  railroads.  We  have 
cotton  fields  and  sugar-cane  plantations.  Our  niggers 
do  the  work.  We  own  'em,  the  same  as  the  planta- 
tions. You  want  to  make  our  niggers  free,  and  so  take 
aAvay  all  our  property.  Then  we-uns  fight  agin  ib,  see? 
You  would  do  the  same  thing,  I  reckon." 

The  slavery  part  of  the  question  had  never  entered 
my  mind,  and  I  was  not  prepared  to  argue  it.  But  I 
said: 

"I  thought  you  said  that  you  are  fighting  because 
they  made  you,  and  here  you  are  saying  that  you  are 
only  defending  your  rights  and  what  you  call  your  prop- 
erty." 

"I  ain't  talking  for  myself,"  said  the  rebel.  "I  was 
made  to  come.  I  don't  own  no  niggers  and  never  did. 
I  worked  in  a  grocery  store  in  Montgomery.     But  I'm 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  231 

only  telling  you-ims  what  we-uns  heard  men  say,  what 

they  are  keeping  up  the  war  for.  So  far  as  we-uns  here 
are  consarned,  none  o'  us  have  any  niggers  and  we  don't 
care  how  soon  this  thing  stops." 

"Nor  which  side  comes  out  ahead,"  chimed  in 
another  of  the  "Johnnies." 

This  conversation,  so  odd  and  under  such  strange  cir- 
cumstances, was  kept  up  for  some  time,  and  then 
branched  off  into  other  things  more  personal,  mainly 
reminiscent  of  the  war.  They  were  all  old  soldiers  and 
had  seen  some  hard  service,  and  their  stories  wrere  very 
interesting. 

"  'Sh-h-h!     Hark!" 

This  came  simultaneously  from  several  mouths.  We 
listened  and  heard  voices  further  down  the  canal.  It 
was  at  the  next  "post." 

"Who  comes  there?"  we  heard. 

"The  grand  rounds,"  was  the  answer  we  heard. 

Then  there  was  a  quiet  scattering.  We  were  intensely 
surprised.  We  had  gauged  our  time  so  as  to  keep  on 
the  lookout  for  the  grand  guards.  Generally  they  do 
not  come  around  till  after  midnight.  And  yet  it  was 
not  yet  11  o'clock. 

We  hastily  but  quietly  directed  our  rebel  visitors  to 
get  behind  the  trees  growing  at  the  foot  of  the  canal 
bank,  at  the  edge  of  the  river.  They  were  thoroughly 
frightened. 

"  You-uns  ain't  agoin'  to  give  us  away?" 

"Never  fear  of  that,"  we  assured  them. 

The  sentry  on  the  nearest  post,  the  sergeant  and  cor- 
poral of  the  guard,  went  about  their  business,  as  if 
faithfully  doing  their  duty,  while  the  rest  of  us  hastily 
pulled  our  blankets  around  us  and  pretended  to  be 
asleep,  as  we  were  supposed  to  be. 

The  grand  rounds  came  along  and  were  received  in 
the  customary  fashion. 

'Everything  all  right  here?"  asked  the  officer  of  the 
day.  a  captain. 

"Everything  quiet,  sir,"  was  the  answer. 

"1  see  some  embers  here.  Have  you  been  having  a 
fire?" 

"Y-y-yes,  sir,"  stammered  the  sergeant. 


232  TEE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER. 

"I  thought  the  orders  were  not  to  light  any  fires  on 
this  line,"  said  the  officer.  "It's  rather  dangerous.  Put 
it  out  and  don't  light  it  again.  It  will  draw  the  fire  of 
the  enemy." 

"They've  not  "been  shooting  at  all  to-day,  captain," 
said  the  sergeant.  "I  guess  there  ain't  any  rebels  on 
the  other  side  now.  We  haven't  seen  any  signs  of  them 
for  some  time." 

The  sergeant  was  a  good  deal  more  correct  about  there 
not  being  "any  rebels  over  there"  than  the  captain  had 
any  idea  ot.  I  saw  through  the  subterfuge  and  could 
hardly  keep  from  laughing  outright. 

"Well,  keep  a  strict  lookout,  sergeant,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, as  he  and  the  rest  of  the  detail  forming  the  grand 
rounds  took  their  departure  for  the  next  post. 

When  the  way  was  clear  we  gave  the  signal,  and  the 
concealed  rebels  emerged  from  their  hiding-places. 

"You-uns  are  a  lot  o'  bricks,"  said  the  first  one  out. 
"You  had  us  that  time,  if  you  wanted  to  go  back  on 
we-uns." 

"Oh,  we  would  never  do  a  thing  like  that,"  was  the 
reply,  "after  having  given  our  words.  But,  all  the 
same,  you  fellows  had  better  get  across  again  for " 

This  advice  was  interrupted  by  a  shot  from  a  rifle, 
and  the  bullet  came  whistling  past  us  and  struck  into 
one  of  the  trees  with  a  characteristic  "zip!" 

Instantly  there  was  a  scene  of  great  excitement. 
Every  one  of  our  picket  guards  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
seized  his  rifle. 

Our  rebel  visitors  sprang  into  the  river  with  a  loud 
splash ! 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  233 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

AN   ALL-AROUND   SCARE. 

Although  alarming  for  the  time  being,  the  combi- 
nation of  occurrences  that  caused  all  the  commotion  pre- 
vailing at  the  conclusion  of  the  preceding  chapter  was 
very  comical. 

It  transpired  that  the  man  on  the  next  post  had  fallen 
asleep,  leaning  against  a  tree,  as  frequently  happened. 
It  is  wonderful  with  what  ease  a  soldier  would  fall 
asleep,  standing  up,  leaning  against  a  tree,  or  even 
on  the  march.  And  he  would  suddenly  awake  at 
the  first  start,  like  a  nodding  deacon  listening  to  the 
drowsy  sermon  from  an  old-fashioned  minister  of  the 
"  thirteenth ly"  sort. 

The  sleepy  sentinel  heard  the  approach  of  the  grand 
rounds,  and  to  his  half -awake  mind  it  probably  seemed 
like  the  approach  of  the  entire  rebel  army.  So,  in  a 
dazed  sort  of  a  way,  he  raised  his  rifle  and  blazed  away. 

The  startled  grand  rounds,  hearing  the  bullet  whistle 
past  them,  naturally  imagined  that  they  were  being  sur- 
rounded by  a  scouting  party  from  the  enemy,  and  they 
retreated  hastily  back  to  the  next  post,  where  we  were, 
which  was  the  headquarters  of  that  particular  section  of 
the  picket  line. 

The  bullet  zipping  past  us,  and  the  footsteps  of  the 
running  grand  rounds  coming  toward  us,  made  us  also 
think  that  the  rebels  were  making  some  sort  of  a  flank 
movement  around  us. 

The  rebel  visitors,  hearing  tbe  shooting  of  the  rifle  and 
the  whizzing  bullet,  perhaps  thought  that  we  had  laid 
some  trap  for  their  capture  despite  our  promises  and 
pledge  of  immunity. 

The  splashing  of  the  retreating  visitors  in  the  water 


234  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

as  they  were  scurrying  across  the  river  also  added  to  the 
mystification  of  ;the  officer  of  the  day  and  his  compan- 
ions of  the  grand  rounds,  and  thus  it  was  that  every  one 
of  the  different  characters  in  the  farce  was  for  the  time 
being  startled,  because  of  his  ignorance  of  all  the  cir- 
cumstances. 

"Halt!"  our  sentry  called  out,  at  the  approach  of  the 
grand  rounds  on  their  backward  movement.  The  usual 
exchanges  were  made  and  the  countersign  given.  Then 
we  began  to  speculate  on  the  cause  of  that  shot.  Every- 
thing was  quiet  in  that  direction  now. 

"  'Sh !"  said  the  captain,  who  was  serving  as  officer  of 
the  day.  "I  think  it  was  a  rebel  scouting  party  trying 
to  cross  the  river.  I  thought  I  heard  them  after  the 
shot.     Did  you  men  hear  anything?" 

We  all  solemnly  averred  that  we  had  not.  But  at  the 
same  time  we  knew  well  enough  what  had  made  that 
splashing  in  the  water. 

"Suppose  I  go  up  and  see  if  there  is  anything  the 
matter  with  the  man  on  that  post?"  suggested  our  ser- 
geant. 

"That's  a  good  plan,"  said  the  officer  of  the  day. 
"But  you'd  better  take  a  file  of  men  with  you  to  be  on 
the  safe  side." 

I  happened  to  be  one  of  three  selected  for  this  duty. 
"We  crept  cautiously  and  with  as  little  noise  as  possible, 
and  when  we  got  near  enough  we  heard  sounds  that  we 
recognized  as  those  attendant  on  the  loading  of  a 
musket. 

"Hello,  Jack,"  said  the  sergeant  cautiously,  abandon- 
ing the  usual  formula  for  approaching  a  sentry,  "what's 
the  matter?" 

"Nothing,"  he  replied.  "Was  that  the  grand 
rounds?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  they  got  on  to  me  rather  suddint,  and  I  blazed 
away  at  'em  not  thinkin'." 

"And  you  nearly  scared  the  life  out  of  the  whole  of 
us,"  said  the  sergeant. 

We  returned  to  the  post  station  and  reported  that 
everything  was  all  right.  The  officer  of  the  day  was 
satisfied  with  that  part  of  the  explanation,  but  he  was 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  235 

still  dubious  about  that  splashing  in  the  water.  He 
thought  it  strange  that  none  of  us  had  beard  it,  and  it 
seemed  to  arouse  his  suspicions.  Just  then  David 
Harris,  who  was  with  us,  was  smart  enough  to  invent  a 
story  to  get  out  of  the  dilemma. 

"I  guess  I  can  explain  it,  captain,"  said  he.  "There's 
a  big  iiock  of  ducks  there  feeding.  I  saw  them  before 
dark,  and  have  heard  them  quacking  several  times.  I 
guess  that  shot  scared  them,  and  their  fluttering 
through  the  water  was  what  we  heard." 

Davy  Harris'  stupendous  audacity  at  this  ingenious 
invention  excited  my  most  profound  admiration. 

"Ah,"  said  the  captain,  "that  must  be  it.  But  you 
boys  must  be  careful  for  the  enemy  might  make  a  feint 
at  any  time.  Fall  in,  grand  rounds."  (This  to  his 
detail. ) 

The  grand  rounds  then  proceeded  to  the  whilom 
sleepy  sentry,  who  was  wide  enough  awake  by  this 
time;  and  was  received  "according  to  the  regulations." 
He  gave  the  captain  some  cock-and-bull  story  about  his 
gun  going  off  accidentally,  but  that  didn't  work. 
Official  dignity  had  been  insulted.  A  high-toned  com- 
missioned officer  could  not  be  given  such  a  scare  as  that 
with  impunity.  The  sentinel  was  placed  under  arrest 
and  another  man  put  in  his  place. 

The  fellow  told  us  afterward  how  he  had  got  asleep 
for  sure,  and  was  thoroughly  startled  at  the  approach  of 
the  grand  rounds  at  such  an  unexpected  hour.  But  we 
never  gave  him  away,  and  beyond  a  few  hours  in  the 
guard  house  he  escaped  punishment. 

In  the  morning  we  rigged  up  another  rail  ferryboat 
and  sent  a  messenger  over  to  our  rebel  friends  on  the 
other  side,  explaining  the  matter,  as  we  did  not  want 
them  to  think  that  we  had  wilfully  gone  back  on  them. 

We  expected  to  see  them  again,  but  did  not.  I  was 
on  picket  two  or  three  times  afterward,  but  always  at 
some  other  post.  But  we  told  the  men  who  relieved  us 
of  what  had  occurred,  and  the  nightly  visits  were  kept 
up  for  some  time.  There  is  more  than  one  private  sol- 
dier of  the  Thirteenth  who  could  testify  to  these  facts 
to-day,  and  it  was  a  pleasant  and  enjoyable  innovation 
on  the  usual  monotony  of  picket  duty. 


236  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

I  don't  know  if  any  of  the  officers  ever  "caught  on" 
to  it.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  they  knew  nothing 
about  it,  at  least  at  the  time,  or  they  might  have  put  a 
stop  to  it.  But  then  the  officers  did  not  know  every- 
thing that  was  going  on  in  those  dajTs — not  much  they 
didn't! 

It  was  a  frequent  occurrence  for  the  opposing  picket 
posts  to  come  together  in  this  sociable  manner,  unless 
it  was  right  before  an  expected  battle,  when  the  men 
were  enemies  in  fact  as  well  as  in  name.  But  by  no 
means  were  the  private  soldiers  thirsting  for  the  blood 
of  their  brethren  on  the  other  side. 

And  I  never  heard  of  advantage  being  taken  by  either 
side  of  those  who  thus  trusted  the  enemy's  pickets  and 
put  them  on  their  honor  as  men.  Perhaps  if  it  had 
been  a  war  between  two  different  nations  there  would 
not  have  been  such  a  thing  possible,  for  there  would 
have  been  a  natural  enmity  and  antipathy  that  could 
not  have  been  overcome.  But  this  was  a  civil  war,  of 
brother  against  brother,  and  the  circumstances  were 
somewhat  peculiar.  At  the  same  time  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  it  was  "holding  communication  with  the 
enemy,"  although  never,  to  my  knowledge,  was  an  in- 
formation given  of  each  other's  strength  or  movements. 
These  intersectional  calls  and  visits  were  always  merely 
sociable  and  personal. 

When  we  had  been  on  picket  we  were  excused  from 
drill  and  other  duties  the  next  day.  We  were  supposed 
to  take  it  to  rest,  and  we  generally  did,  unless  a  march 
was  ordered.  But  on  other  days  we  had  no  end  of  drill- 
ing and  dress  parades  and  other  military  maneuvers, 
so  that  we  were  kept  pretty  busy,  and  no  one  complained 
of  the  want  of  exercise. 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  237 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

AN   INSPECTION. 

An  inspection  is  one  of  the  bugbears  of  the  soldier. 
Not  only  is  this  so  in  an  active  campaign,  but  it  is  so  with 
troops  in  barracks  and  forts,  and  as  much  so  in  the  reg- 
ular army,  where  a  man  makes  it  the  business  of  his  life, 
as  it  is  in  the  volunteer  service  in  time  of  war,  when  it 
is  only  an  exigency. 

We  were  always  notified  of  the  coming  of  the  inspec- 
tion officer.  Of  course  we  had  an  inspection  by  our 
regimental  officers  every  Sunday  morning  while  in 
camp,  but  the  visit  of  the  official  inspector  was  another 
thing.  It  was  a  very  useful  thing,  all  must  admit,  but 
at  the  same  time  it  was  a  perfect  nuisance  to  the  aver- 
age soldier. 

Upon  receiving  notification  that  the  inspecting  officer 
was  coming  every  soldier  proceeded  to  put  himself  in 
presentable  shape.  The  first  thing  of  all  was  to  clean 
our  rifles.  They  must  be  taken  apart  and  cleaned  to 
the  acme  of  perfection.  Not  a  particle  of  dust  must  be 
found  anywhere  upon  them,  and  the  polished  parts  must 
shine  like  silverware. 

This,  with  the  limited  facilities  at  our  disposal,  was 
no  easy  task.  There  was  a  dearth  of  old  rags  and  other 
material  with  which  to  clean  the  guns.  Sapolio,  silverine 
and  other  polishing  materials  were  not  furnished  by  the 
government,  but  a  fairly  good  substitute  was  found  in 
common  dry  clay,  which  gave  a  pretty  good  polish  to 
the  metal  work  of  our  weapons. 

On  the  cartridge  box  at  our  side  and  on  the  belt 
around  our  waist  there  was  a  big  brass  plate,  bearing 
the  letters  "U.  S. , "  and  on  the  cross  over  the  breast  there 
was  another  brass  plate  bearing  what  was  supposed  to 


238  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

represent  the  great  American  eagle,  but  which  in  reality 
more  resembled  a  turkey  buzzard.  I  think  it  was  John 
Ick  who  originated  the  name  of  "buzzard"  in  our  com-^ 
pany,  for  he  was  always  talking  of  the  time  when  that 
bird  would  pick  the  flesh  off  his  bones.  That  of  course 
would  be  after  he  had  passed  through  the  ordeal  of  the 
"slaughter  house." 

These  brass  plates  had  to  be  polished  to  the  highest 
notch  of  perfection.  And  then  the  belts  and  shoes  had 
to  be  blackened  or  polished,  although  at  times  it  was 
hard  to  get  blackening,  and  the  unfair  part  of  it  was 
that  we  had  to  provide  ourselves  with  this,  purchasing 
it  out  of  our  own  pockets  from  the  sutlers. 

The  clothes  had  to  be  neatly  brushed  and  the  entire 
toilet  of  the  soldier  made  as  respectable  as  possible.  Not 
only  that,  but  the  knapsacks  had  to  be  packed  in  a  cer- 
tain manner,  with  each  piece  laid  in  a  particular  part  of 
the  pack,  and  the  blanket  rolled  so  that  the  edges  came 
in  just  a  certain  position. 

The  whole  object  of  this  was  to  have  everything  in 
perfect  uniform.  The  word  "uniform"  expresses  the 
equipment  of  a  body  of  troops  exactly.  Every  man's 
apparel  and  equipment  must  be  exactly  like  his  fellow's. 
These  things  seem  trivial,  taken  individually,  but  when 
it  comes  to  a  vast  number  of  men  the  importance  of  the 
matter  is  obvious. 

On  assembling  for  inspection  the  regiment  forms  in 
line  the  same  as  in  dress  parade  and  then  wheels  into 
companies.  Then  at  a  shoulder  arms  the  inspecting 
officer  and  his  assistants,  accompanied  by  the  staff 
officers  of  the  regiment,  take  a  hasty  trip  down  the  front 
of  each  of  the  ten  companies  in  succession  and  then 
around  the  back.  Then  he  starts  again  at  the  company 
on  the  right  and  proceeds  to  inspect  the  arms  of  every 
individual  soldier.     This  is  the  crucial  test. 

As  the  inspecting  officer,  who  by  the  way  was  always 
a  very  airish  and  self-important  official,  with  a  strik- 
ingly arrogant  manner,  approaches  each  soldier,  the 
latter  holds  up  his  gun  in  front  of  him  in  a  certain  pre- 
scribed manner,  so  that  it  is  handy  for  the  officer  to 
take. 

The  inspector  seizes  the  gun  with  a  snap  and  jump, 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  239 

something  as  a  startled  mother  would  grab  a  bottle  of 
poison  from  the  hand  of  a  child.  I  don't  know  why 
they  did  it  in  this  way,  but  the  inspecting  officers  cer- 
tainly always  did  so.  Then  the  inspector  takes  the 
rifle,  examines  it  carefully  and  tries  the  trigger,  as  if  he 
were  in  a  store  examining  a  new  gun  which  he  proposed 
to  buy. 

The  inspector  invariably  wore  spotless  white  gloves 
to  begin  with.  On  the  condition  of  those  white  gloves 
at  the  end  of  the  inspection  depended  the  percentage  of 
perfection.  The  cleaner  the  gloves  the  higher  the  per- 
centage. The  more  soiled  they  were  the  lower  the  rate 
of  credit.  The  result  of  the  inspection  was  accordingly 
decided  automatically,  as  it  were. 

To  begin  with,  the  inspector  would  rub  a  finger  under 
and  around  the  hammer  to  see  if  he  could  find  a  speck 
of  dirt  there.  But  the  next  ordeal  was  the  worst.  I 
forgot  to  say  that  before  handing  the  gun  to  the  inspec- 
tor the  ramrod  had  to  be  drawn  from  its  sheath  and 
dropped  into  the  barrel  of  the  rifle.  The  inspector  would 
give  the  gun  a  sort  of  upward  throw  that  would  send 
the  ramrod  up  a  ways  and  let  it  fall  back  into  the  bar- 
rel. If  there  was  a  bright,  bell-like,  musical  result,  it 
showed  that  the  barrel  was  clean,  for  if  there  was  dirt 
there  there  would  be  a  dull  sound  instead  of  the  bell-like 
result. 

If  there  was  any  suspicion  of  dirt  or  dust  the  in- 
spector would  turn  the  ramrod  around  on  the  bottom  of 
the  barrel,  and  twist  the  end  of  it  on  the  palm  of  his 
white  glove.  Woe  to  the  soldier  if  there  was  any  dirt 
on  the  end  of  the  ramrod  to  soil  that  white  glove. 

When  the  inspector  had  finished  examining  the  gun, 
he  would  throw  it  back  with  a  force  that  would  almost 
knock  the  soldier  over  in  his  efforts  to  catch  it.  The 
agility  with  which  the  soldier  officiated  in  the  catcher's 
box  on  such  an  occasion  seemed  to  be  an  important 
factor  in  the  inspector's  opinion  of  that  individual 
soldierr 

As  win  be  imagined  this  inspection  of  every  individ- 
ual in  a  regimentTof  seven  or  eight  hundred  men  was  a 
slow  and  tedious  process  and  the  fatigue  of  standing 
there  in  line  so  long  was  one  of  the  reasons  why  the 


240  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

ceremony  was  so  much  dreaded.  But  this  part  of  the 
inspection  was  finally  concluded. 

Then  the  soldiers  had  to  open  their  percussion  cap  and 
cartridge  boxes,  while  the  inspector  marched  around  and 
ascertained  if  they  all  contained  the  required  comple- 
ment of  ammunition.  After  that  each  soldier  had  to 
unsling  his  knapsack  and  lay  it  carefully  on  the  ground 
behind  him,  open,  so  that  the  inspector  could  see  that 
every  article  was  packed  according  to  the  regulations. 
Every  article  had  to  lie  just  so,  even  to  the  manner  of 
its  folding. 

In  times  when  the  army  was  in  camp,  or  otherwise 
so  situated  that  the  things  discarded  on  the  march  could 
be  replaced,  every  soldier  had  to  have  certain  necessary 
articles  and  to  show  them  to  the  officials  on  these  period- 
ical inspections.  This  fact  got  John  Ick  and  Keddy 
Mahar  into  trouble. 

The  inspection  near  Sharpsburg  was  the  first  one 
wherein  the  inspector  had  pried  into  the  interior  of  the 
knapsacks.  On  former  occasions,  only  the  outside  of 
the  "trunks"  were  examined.  As  a  loaded  knapsack  is 
quite  heavy,  Mahar  and  Ick  had  invented  an  ingenious 
scheme  to  reduce  the  fatigue;  they  had  done  this  so 
neatly  that  no  one  knew  the  difference.  The  knap- 
sacks stood  out  firm  and  plump  as  if  they  contained  all 
the  articles  called  for. 

Their  ingenuity,  however,  on  this  occasion  brought 
Ick  and  Mahar  to  grief.  When  the  order  came  to 
"Open  knapsacks,"  these  two  worthies  looked  at  each 
other  in  a  guilty  fashion,  and  I  could  almost  see  them 
grow  pale  as  they  saw  the  nice  and  orderly  manner  in 
which  their  comrades  had  packed  their  knapsacks.  Ick 
and  Mahar  held  back.  "Didn't  you  hear  the  order  to 
open  knapsacks,"  said  Scott,  who  was  in  command  of 
the  company. 

"Now,  captain,  you  see — "  Mahar  began  to  say;  but 
he  was  interrupted  by  the  captain : 

"Open  your  knapsacks,  I  said."  '   "d 

"Mister  Scott,"  put  in  Ick,  who  always  had  a  funny 
way  of  addressing  the  officer  p.3  "mister,*'  "please 
oxcuse  me.  I  don't  vaxit  to  opens  mine  knapsack  any 
juore  alretty  this  time,    You  gee  it  yas— ■*»'*  .., .  _.,.,,  , 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  241 

"Open  those  knapsacks!"  roared  the  captain,  getting 
angry. 

The  two  men  sheepishly  proceeded  to  open  the  knap- 
sacks, and  then  the  entire  company  saw  why  they  hesi- 
tated.    Both  were  stuffed  with  straw! 

The  straight  line  that  Company  K  had  been  main- 
taining was  immediately  broken  up,  for  every  man  was 
nearly  bent  double  with  laughter.  Captain  Scott  looked 
as  if  he  would  like  to  annihilate  the  two  men  on  the 
spot,  for  it  was  a  reflection  on  him.  According  to  the 
rules  he  should  have  held  a  little  inspection  of  the  com- 
pany himself  before  coming  out  on  the  field,  to  see  that 
everything  was  all  right,  but  this  he  had  of  course 
failed  to  do. 

To  make  it  all  the  worse,  just  at  this  moment  along 
came  the  inspecting  officer  and  his  staff.  That  terrible 
autocrat  seemed  to  take  the  whole  thing  as  a  personal 
insult  and  fairly  roared.  But  even  his  roaring  could 
not  stop  the  laughter  among  the  other  members  of  Com- 
pany K. 

Poor  Ick  and  Mahar  rather  got  the  worst  of  that 
scheme.  They  were  sent  to  the  guard  house,  and  after 
the  inspection  were  put  through  their  punishment.  The 
penalty  prescribed  by  Captain  Scott  was  appropriate. 

For  four  solid  and  tedious  hours  John  Ick  and  Reddy 
Mahar  marched  up  and  down  the  company  street  carry- 
ing knapsacks  filled  with  stones.  When  they  got 
through  with  the  ordeal  they  were  nearly  dead  with 
fatigue,  and  the  straps  holding  up  the  heavy  load  had 
cut  through  the  flesh  of  their  shoulders  seemingly 
almost  to  the  bone. 


243  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

I 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

WE    BUILD    A    HOUSE, 

"Iaji  always  suspicious  of  those  inspections,"  said 
Joan  Btansfield  to  me,  after  the  conclusion  of  the  par- 
ticular ono  described  in  the  foregoing  chapter. 

"Why,  John?"  I  asked. 

"Because  they  are  not  held  for  nothing.  They  mean 
that  there  is  something  coming  off  pretty  soon.  These 
things  are  to  see  that  the  army  is  in  good  order  and 
ready  for  a  move  of  some  sort.  Do  you  remember  what 
that  Hoosier  said  just  before  wo  left  Maryland 
Heights?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "But  that  did  not  amount  to 
much  after  all.  There  was  no  fighting  after  that  re- 
view.    We  were  only  given  a  little  march. ' ' 

"I  don't  exactly  mean  that  we  will  get  into  a  fight," 
answered  Stansfield  ;  "but  there'll  be  something — either 
a  march  or  a  light  before  long." 

It  really  seemed  as  if  Stansfield  was  right.  There 
was  generally  some  sort  of  a  movement  after  a  review 
or  an  inspection  of  more  than  ordinary  formality,  so  that 
the  soldiers  had  begun  to  regard  the  sign  as  unfailing. 
Every  old  soldier  regarded  these  things  as  the  first  steps 
toward  some  important  change  or  movement.  But  so 
far  as  this  particular  affair  was  concerned  the  rule  did 
not  hold  good,  inasmuch  as  we  remained  in  the  vicinity 
of  Sharpsburg  for  some  little  time  after  that.  This  oc- 
casion, however,  was  unquestionably  an  exception  to 
the  general  rule. 

The  rigors  of  army  life  and  exposure,  together  with 
the  approach  of  cold  weather,  began  to  play  havoc  with 
the  soldiers  of  the  Thirteenth  New  Jersey.  A  great 
many  of  them  were  taken  sick,  and  the  temporary  hos- 
pital that  had  been  improvised  was  full.     Nearly  two 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  243 

hundred  were  sick,  and  six  of  these  cases  resulted 
fatally.  The  hospital  was  an  old  two-story  frame 
building  about  a  mile  from  our  camp,  and  about  as 
comfortable  as  the  pest  house  on  the  almshouse  farm. 

Although  there  were  a  number  of  the  members  of 
Company  K  on  the  sick  list,  yet  there  were  no  deaths 
among  them.  So  far  as  I  was  concerned,  my  health 
was  splendid. 

While  we  were  at  Sharpsburg  there  were  also  a  good 
many  promotions  and  other  changes  among  the  officers. 
George  M.  Hard,  a  Newarker — now  president  of  one  of 
the  leading  national  banks  of  New  York  City — was 
transferred  to  the  position  of  first  lieutenant  of  Com- 
pany K.  This  made  some  grumbling,  for  the  men 
argued  that  if  there  were  any  offices  to  fill  the  vacancies 
should  be  filled  from  among  our  own  members.  But 
Hard  proved  a  good  officer,  and  the  grumbling  did  not 
last  long.  Furthermore  he  was  soon  afterward  trans- 
ferred to  another  company. 

It  is  unnecessary  in  this  story  to  refer  to  all  the 
changes,  but  I  will  mention  one  case — that  of  Lieuten- 
ant Ambrose  M.  Matthews,  who  was  promoted  to  the 
captaincy  of  Company  I,  a  position  he  held  to  the  end 
of  the  war,  although  he  was  entitled  to  a  much  higher 
position,  for  a  better  man  never  lived. 

He  is  now  a  prosperous  business  man  of  Orange,  1ST. 
J.,  and  is  fortunatelj7,  so  situated  in  life  that  he  can 
devote  a  good  deal  of  time  to  the  interests  of  the  veteran 
soldiers,  and  there  is  no  man  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
who  takes  a  livelier  interest  in  these  matters  than  he 
does.  He  was  an  excellent  officer  and  is  to-day  one  of 
the  most  esteemed  citizens  of  Orange,  holding  many  posi- 
tions of  trust  and  honor  in  the  commercial  world  of  that 
community. 

It  was  getting  very  cold,  for  it  was  now  November, 
and  really  the  temperature  in  that  part  of  Maryland  is 
not  much  warmer  than  it  is  here.  Every  morning  the 
ground  was  covered  with  a  thick  white  frost,  and  when 
the  company  was  called  out  for  the  reveille  roll  call,  the 
breath  came  from  the  men's  mouths  like  a  jet  of  steam. 
We  suffered  considerably  in  consequence. 

For  a  little  while  we  were — that  is  a  portion  of  Com- 


244  TUB  YOUNG    VOLTJNTEElt. 

pany  K — quartered  in  an  old  school  building  on  the 
main  street  of  Sharpsburg.  Out  of  curiosity  I  "visited 
the  same  building  a  year  or  so  ago.  But  we  were  glad 
not  to  stay  there  long,  for  it  had  been  previously  oc- 
cupied by  some  of  General  Fitz-John  Porter's  troops, 
and  the  place  was  so  infested  with  "pe?idi cuius  investi- 
menti,"  that  it  was  more  than  an  offset  for  the  protec- 
tion the  building  afforded  against  the  cold. 

Somewhere  about  the  middle  of  November  the  regi- 
ment was  divided  into  two  wings,  and  located  a  couple 
of  miles  or  so  apart  to  facilitate  the  work  we  were  en- 
gaged in — picket  duty.  Lieutenant-Colonel  Swords 
was  in  command  of  one  of  these  wings  and  Major 
Chadwick  of  the  other.  The  colonel  moved  his  head- 
quarters to  a  point  about  halfway  between  the  two 
wings. 

Then  the  story  got  out  that  we  were  going  to  remain 
there  all  winter  and  we  proceeded  to  make  ourselves 
more  comfortable.  Some  of  the  officers  even  sent  for 
their  wives  and  friends  to  come  and  visit  them.  My 
pard,  John  Butterworth,  and  I  proceeded  to  build  a  log 
house. 

An  army  log  house  is  worth  a  brief  description. 
These  houses  were  generally  "built  for  two."  In  size 
they  would  perhaps  not  be  larger  than  twelve  feet  long 
and  about  eight  feet  wide. 

First  of  all,  we  dug  a  square  hole,  something  like  a 
cellar,  the  size  of  the  cabin.  Butterworth  called  it  "the 
basement."  That  saved  just  so  much  timber,  you 
know.  Then  we  cut  down  some  trees,  which  were  split 
in  half  and  cut  the  length  and  width  of  the  house. 
These  were  notched  near  the  ends,  and  then  piled  up 
after  the  manner  of  a  "corncob  house,"  such  as  the  chil- 
dren used  to  make. 

With  considerable  labor  water  was  brought  from  the 
nearest  stream  and  a  sufficient  quantity  of  mud  made  to 
fill  up  the  chinks  between  the  logs.  The  roof  was  com- 
posed of  the  pieces  of  our  "pup"  tents  fastened  together, 
and  stretched  over  a  ridge  pole. 

Then  came  the  building  of  the  chimney,  the  most  im- 
portant part.  In  one  end  of  the  "cellar"  a  hole  was 
dug,  like  an  oven,  with  a  small  round  hole  at  the  top, 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  245 

opening  into  the  ground  above.  Above  this  was  laid  a 
lot  of  split  sticks,  two  or  three  feet  each  in  length,  and 
covered  with  the  peculiar  red  mud  with  which  that  part 
of  this  glorious  country  abounds. 

Great  care  had  to  be  taken  to  leave  none  of  the  sticks 
exposed,  or  the  chimney  would  take  fire.  It  was  a  very 
frequent  occurrence  to  be  awakened  in  the  night  by  a 
small  conflagration  and  destruction  of  the  domicile  of 
some  comrade  from  this  cause.  I  have  gone  through 
the  interesting  experience  myself  more  than  once,  not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  Butterworth  was  almost  prof- 
ligate in  his  use  of  mud. 

The  mud  chimney  would  soon  dry,  and  when  com- 
pleted it  filled  its  purpose  to  perfection.  Few  of  the 
most  scientific  chimneys  of  the  present  day  would 
"draw"  better  than  those  stick-and-mud  affairs  that  we 
had  in  the  army. 

On  the  other  end  of  the  hut  was  built  the  bunk.  This 
was  composed  of  poles  about  six  or  seven  feet  long, 
fastened  across,  and  on  top  of  these  was  laid  a  lot  of 
evergreen  or  cedar  boughs,  which  formed  the  mattress. 
The  boughs  were  covered  with  a  rubber  blanket,  and 
the  result  was  a  good  bed  that  was  a  good  deal  more 
comfortable  than  would  be  imagined  on  reading  this 
description. 

A  spare  blanket  or  piece  of  shelter  tent  served  the  pur- 
pose of  a  door,  and  thus  housed  the  soldier  was  quite 
comfortable,  with  a  big  fire  burning  in  the  "fireplace" 
even  in  the  severest  weather.  Many  a  pleasant  hour  I 
have  spent  in  such  a  primitive  residence,  cooking  lob- 
scouse  or  playing  old  sledge. 

We  began  to  receive  our  mail  quite  regularly  too, 
and  this  was  a  source  of  great  satisfaction  and  pleasure. 
The  home  papers  came  to  me  about  a  week  after  being 
printed  and  with  more  or  less  regularity — generally 
more  less  than  more.  The  local  news,  such  as  there 
was,  interested  us  greatly. 

I  say  "such  as  there  was"  with  all  that  it  means. 
To  tell  the  truth,  there  was  not  a  great  deal  in  the  papers 
in  those  days  beside  war  ne^^•s.  And  wo  learned  a 
good  deal  more  about  the  war  from  these  papers  than 
we  did  otherwise.     Even  the  very  acts  that  we  had  par- 


246  THE  YOU  KG   VOLUNTEER. 

ticipated  in  were  presented  to  us  plainer  hj  the  papers 
than  we  could  see  them  for  ourselves. 

Many  a  movement  that  we  could  not  understand  sim- 
ply because  we  were  a  part  of  it,  was  explained  by  the 
ubiquitous  war  correspondent.  But  the  funniest  part 
of  all  was  the  editorial  columns.  These  were  mainly 
devoted  to  telling  how  the  war  ought  to  be  prosecuted. 
None  of  the  generals  were  doing  right.  If  they  would 
do  this  or  that  it  would  be  a  good  deal  better  than  the 
way  they  were  doing.  I  refer  to  no  particular  paper. 
All  that  reached  us  were  about  the  same.  We  soon 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  government  had  made 
a  big  mistake  aud  put  the  army  in  charge  of  the  wrong 
men.  Instead  of  the  generals  in  command  there  seemed 
to  be  little  doubt  that  the  war  might  have  been  ended 
in  half  the  time  if  the  whole  business  had  been  placed 
in  charge  of  the  editorial  and  other  critics  at  home. 

We  also  received  many  interesting  letters  from  home. 
It  was  while  at  Sharpsburg  that  I  heard  for  the  second 
time  from  "The  girl  I  left  behind  me." 

With  one  exception  it  was  the  last  one  I  received 
from  that  source.  The  next  one  was  not  so  interesting. 
To  while  away  the  time  I  had  written  a  letter  to  Mabel 
Summers,  the  pretty  little  Frederick  city  girl.  At  the 
same  time  I  wrote  one  to  my  Paterson  girl. 

The  letter  to  the  Frederick  girl  never  brought  an 
answer.  She  must  have  thought  the  writer  crazy.  The 
letter  from  the  Paterson  girl  was  a  curt  and  dignified 
demand  for  the  return  of  her  picture.  It  was  not  till 
after  the  war  was  over  and  she  had  cast  her  lot  with 
another  and  better  looking  man  that  I  understood  the 
reason  for  such  a  summary  dismissal. 

In  directing  those  two  letters,  written  at  the  same 
time,  I  had  got  them  mixed  up! 

I  can  imagine  the  indignation  and  feelings  of  my 
Paterson  girl,  now  that  I  know  the  reason  she  answered 
as  she  did,  after  having  read  the  letter  to  the  Frederick 
city  girl,  but  I  can't  imagine  how  the  latter  received 
the  letter  that  she  got.  And  on  such  a  brief  acquaint- 
ance, too! 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  247 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE   FREDERICKSBURG   CAMPAIGN. 

But  we  didn't  stay  at  Sharpsburg  all  winter,  as  we 
expected,  after  all.  On  the  10th  of  December,  a  bit- 
terly cold  day  it  was  too,  we  were  ordered  to  break 
camp.  And  from  the  rumors  prevalent,  notwithstand- 
ing the  unusual  time  of  the  year,  we  were  likely  to  get 
into  another  fight  soon. 

Some  great  changes  had  taken  place  during  the  past 
few  days,  of  which  we  heard  pretty  soon.  For  some 
reason  known  best  to  the  government  at  Washington, 
General  McClellan  had  been  relieved  from  the  com- 
mand of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  and  General  Burn- 
side  had  been  appointed  in  his  place. 

It  should  be  understood,  that,  whereas  the  general  in 
command  in  the  field  was  popularly  supposed  to  have 
charge  of  the  operations,  all  the  movements  were 
directed  from  Washington,  and  these  were  mainly 
formulated  by  General  Halleck.  He,  under  the  advice 
and  direction  of  the  president,  was  supposed  to  have 
command  of  all  the  armies  in  the  field.  The  president 
had  his  hands  full  about  that  time,  and  of  course  he  had 
to  be  invariably  guided  by  the  experience  of  General 
Halleck. 

The  soldiers  always  referred  to  Halleck  as  "Grand- 
mother Halleck,"  and  the  name  in  my  opinion  was  well 
placed.  He  was  the  greatest  fogy  imaginable.  The 
records  of  the  departments,  the  histories  of  the  war,  and 
the  State  papers  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  all  of  which  I 
have  carefully  studied,  go  to  show  that  Halleck  did 
more  to  prolong  the  war  in  the  first  part  of  its  existence 
than  anything  else.  It  was  not  till  General  Grant  was 
given  command  that  the  ostensible  commanding  general 
of  the  army  really  had  that  control  of  it  that  he  should. 


"848  \  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

Grant  would  take  command  under  no  other  circum- 
stances, and  he  was  right. 

The  idea  that  a  general  in  Washington  could  better 
direct  the  active  movements  of  the  army  than  the  com- 
mander at  the  front  in  the  presence  of  the  troops,  is 
absurd  on  the  face  of  it.  And  yet  that  is  the  theory  on 
which  the  first  part  of  the  war  was  prosecuted. 

General  McClellan  was  in  this  manner  handicapped 
all  the  time  he  was  ostensibly  in  command  of  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac.  Some  writers  may  argue  differently, 
but  I  am  satisfied  of  these  facts.  General  McClellan 
was  the  idol  of  the  soldiers,  and  there  was  a  very  gen- 
eral feeling  that  he  had  not  been  fairly  treated  by  the 
powers  that  be,  but  when  he  was  relieved  there  was  not 
so  much  of  a  commotion  as  there  might  have  been.  The 
feeling  among  the  soldiers  and  many  of  the  officers  was : 
"Well,  let  them  see  if  some  other  general  can  do  any 
better  than  our  Little  Mack." 

At  the  same  time  every  soldier  in  the  army  had  the 
most  profound  respect  for  General  Burnside.  He  had 
been  a  corps  commander  and  everybody  knew  that  he 
was  a  good  and  fearless  officer.  The  modest  manner  in 
which  he  accepted  the  command  of  the  army  was  also 
calculated  to  create  a  favorable  impression.  He  said 
that  he  would  take  the  command  and  do  the  best  he 
could,  but  at  the  same  time  he  did  not  consider  himself 
qualified  to  command  such  a  large  body  and  carry  them 
successf  ull  through  an  important  campaign.  The  boys 
heard  of  this  and  manifested  a  disposition  to  stand  by 
him  every  time. 

General  Burnside's  very  first  move,  however,  ran 
against  the  political  generals  and  others  who  were  run- 
ning the  thing  at  Washington.  Burnside  proceeded  to 
make  some  changes  and  transfers  among  the  corps  com- 
manders, somewhat  after  the  plan  adopted  by  the  late 
Superintendent  B}Trnes  when  he  gave  the  precinct  cap- 
tains a  "shaking  up"  in  New  York  City. 

The  approval  or  disapproval  of  the  powers  that  be  was 
deferred  till  after  the  conclusion  of  the  Fredericksburg 
campaigns,  which  were  then  in  progress.  Then  when 
Burnside  insisted  on  having  his  ideas  carried  out  or 
being  relieved  from  the  command  of  the  army,  the  in- 


THE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER.  249 

fluences  brought  to  bear  were  too  strong,  and  General 
Burnside  was  "relieved  at  his  own  request." 

This  is  anticipating  the  story  somewhat,  but  it  is 
stated  here  to  explain  the  state  of  mind  and  other  adverse 
circumstances  that  prevailed  during  the  brief  time  that 
General  Burnside  was  in  command  of  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac. 

The  order  which  we  received  to  march  away  from 
Sharpsburg  was  the  beginning  of  the  movements  con- 
nected with  the  inauguration  of  the  Fredericksburg 
campaign.  General  Burnside  had  taken  a  position  with 
the  main  portion  of  the  army  at  Falmouth,  nearly  op- 
posite Fredericksburg,  and  on  the  day  that  the  Thir- 
teenth left  Sharpsburg,  the  10th  of  December,  the  Union 
forces  were  practically  in  a  position  to  assault  the  lines 
of  the  rebels. 

We  were  marched  back  to  Harper's  Ferry,  and  on 
the  following  day  were  in  camp  at  Loudon  Heights. 
The  next  day  we  started  again  and  marched  through 
the  city  or  town  of  Leesburg.  And  before  describing 
further  progress,  I  want  to  tell  something  very  sensa- 
tional that  happened  at  Leesburg. 

Before  that,  however,  I  will  explain  that  on  the  same 
day,  or  about  the  same  time,  the  battle  of  Fredericks- 
burg, one  of  the  sharpest  and  bloodiest  battles  of  the 
war,  was  fought.  The  Thirteenth,  nor  any  part  of  the 
Twelfth  Corps,  did  not  get  into  that  battle,  but  we  were 
supposed  to  form  a  part  of  the  movement  somehow,  in 
occupying  a  position  that  would  cut  off  one  possible  line 
of  retreat.  At  least  that  was  the  explanation  given. 
The  why  and  wherefore  I  cannot  attempt  to  explain. 
I  was  only  a  private  soldier  then,  and  knew  no  more 
than  the  other  private  soldiers,  perhaps  not  as  much  as 
some  of  them. 

The  battle  of  Fredericksburg  was  a  peculiar  one. 
Fredericksburg  is  a  town  on  the  southern  side  of  the 
Rappahannock  River,  located  on  a  hill.  On  the  north- 
ern side  of  the  river  was  the  little  village  of  Falmouth. 
The  Union  troops  were  on  the  Falmouth  side  while  the 
rebels  occupied  the  city  of  Fredericksburg,  and  were 
strongly  intrenched  behind  breastworks.  The  enemy 
had  destroyed  all  the  bridges,  and  the  only  way  to  get 
across  the  river  was  on  pontoon  bridges. 


250  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

The  Union  troops  got  across.  They  assaulted  the 
town.  They  destroyed  it,  burned  the  houses  and 
smashed  the  furniture,  but — were  driven  back  in  con- 
fusion, as  might  naturally  be  expected  under  such  cir- 
cumstances. Result — nothing  gained,  much  lost.  The 
army  that  fell  back  across  the  river  to  Falmouth  was 
12,321  less  in  number  than  the  army  that  went  over  the 
river.     And  the  rebel  loss  was  less  than  5,300. 

Burnside  was  right  in  the  estimation  he  had  placed 
upon  himself.  The  soldiers  liked  him,  and  he  was  a 
good  corps  commander,  but  he  was  never  intended  to 
have  command  of  a  large  army.  At  the  same  time, 
after  this  disastrous  result  he  was  left  in  command,  al- 
though still  handicapped  by  the  powers  at  Washington 
in  the  refusal  to  make  the  changes  he  had  recom- 
mended. Perhaps  the  powers  at  Washington  might 
have  been  right  in  this  particular  instance. 

I  am  getting  a  little  "twisted"  right  here  in  trying 
to  describe  the  movements  of  the  two  divisions  of  the 
army  at  the  same  time.  I  will  return  to  the  Thirteenth 
New  JersejT  once  more.  And  this  brings  me  back  to 
what  I  was  going  to  tell  of  what  happened  at  Leesburg. 

There  had  been  a  number  of  desertions  from  all  the 
regiments  at  Sharpsburg.  The  cold  weather  had  damp- 
ened the  ardor  of  the  troops.  The  position  of  the  army 
was  such  that  it  made  it  a  comparatively  easy  matter 
to  get  away  from  it.  A  good  many  took  advantage  of 
this  opportunity. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  there  were  some  members  of 
the  Thirteenth  New  Jersey  amoug  the  deserters.  Some 
of  these  were  recaptured  and  brought  back  by  the  pro- 
vost guard.  Others  were  never  heard  of  till  after  the 
war. 

Of  those  brought  back,  the  most  were  punished  in 
different  ways.  First  it  was  by  fining  them  several 
months'  pay.  Then  it  was  by  imprisonment  in  some 
military  prison  or  fortress.  But  these  penalties  did  not 
seem  to  have  the  desired  effect.  It  was  decided  to  make 
a  horrible  example  of  some  of  the  deserters  in  order 
that  it  might  possibly  have  a  deterrent  effect  on  the 
others  who  might  be  overcome  with  an  overwhelming 
degree  of  homesickness. 

r 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  251 

A  squad  of  deserters  were  captured,  brought  back, 
court  martiaJed,  and  sentenced  to  be  shot ! 

Now  President  Lincoln  was  the  kindest  hearted  of 
men.  There  is  no  telling  how  many  men  he  pardoned 
during  the  war  after  they  had  been  sentenced  to  be  shot 
for  desertion.  But  advantage  had  apparently  been 
taken  of  this  leniency,  and  the  time  had  come  when  the 
recalcitrant  soldiers  should  be  made  to  believe  that  the 
government  meant  business.  Executive  clemency  was 
therefore  withheld  in  the  case  of  three  of  the  deserters 
from  our  corps,  and  we  were  startled  with  the  notifica- 
tion to  fall  in  to  witness  the  execution ! 

The  entire  division  was  marched  out  to  witness  the 
terrible  scene  of  three  comrades  being  shot  to  death  by 
their  associates.  I  don't  believe  there  was  a  face  in  the 
division  that  was  not  pale,  nor  a  pair  of  legs  that  were 
not  more  or  less  shaking  at  the  knees. 

The  details  of  the  execution  will  be  given  in  the  next 
chapter. 


252        V  f      THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

AN   AWFUL   SCENE. 

Three  deserters  were  to  be  shot  that  morning  and  we 
were  compelled  to  witness  the  execution ! 

Fain  would  we  all  have  escaped  the  ordeal,, but  it  was 
impossible.  No  oue  was  excused.  Every  soldier  must 
have  indelibly  impressed  upon  his  memory  that  it  is  a 
heinous  offense  to  desert.  Every  soldier  must  be  made 
to  understand  that  this  was  hereafter  to  be  the  fate  of 
deserters. 

None  who  took  part  will  ever  forget  that  day.  So 
far  as  the  preliminary  sensations  and  emotions  were 
concerned  it  was  a  thousand  times  worse  than  any  bat- 
tle. The  men  were  subdued  and  silent  as  if  going  to  a 
funeral — and  indeed  they  were.  Poor  John  Ick's  lugu- 
brious expressions  about  a  ."slaughter  house"  met  a 
response  in  all  our  minds,  for  like  nothing  else  than  a 
slaughter  house  did  it  appear  to  us. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  orderly  sergeant  was  more  quiet 
than  usual  in  forming  the  company,  and  the  tone  of  the 
captain  as  he  ordered  the  company  to  march  to  the 
parade  ground  was  low  and  sorrowful.  When  the  regi- 
ment was  formed  there  was  an  unusual  lack  of  bustle 
and  enthusiasm.  A  spirit  of  sadness,  I  might  say  of 
horror,  pervaded  the  entire  command. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day.  There  was  not  a  cloud  in 
the  sky  and  the  sun  shone  down  on  the  glittering  baj'o- 
nets  till  Rthey  looked  like  silver  spikes.  The  men  all 
wore  sober  countenances  as  we  marched  out  to  the  place 
of  execution. 

There  were  three  men  to  be  shot.  Two  were  from 
the  Forty-sixth  Pennsylvania,  and  the  other,  I  regret  to 
say,  from  the  Thirteenth  New  Jersey.  The  latter  was 
named  Christopher  Krubart,  a  member  of  Company  B. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER*  %& 

These  three  men  were  to  be  killed ! 

And  we  were  to  kill  them ! 

Fortunately  for  me  and  fortunately  for  the  victims  I 
was  not  one  of  the  men  detailed  on  the  shooting  squad. 
It  was  fortunate  for  me,  because  I  would  as  like  as 
not  have  shot  myself  in  my  excitement.  It  was  fortu- 
nate for  the  victim,  for  I  would  probably  have  hit  him, 
if  I  hit  him  at  all,  in  some  unimportant  part  of  the  body 
and  only  help  to  put  him  in  agony,  without  killing  him. 

Before  we  started  for  the  scene  of  the  execution  the 
order  announcing  the  findings  of  the  court  martial  and 
the  approval  of  the  sentence  was  read  impressively  to 
the  regiment.  That  this  had  a  moral  effect  on  the  men 
is  beyond  question.  No  one  could  describe  the  solem- 
nity of  that  event,  made  all  the  more  solemn  from  the 
impressive  manner  in  which  the  order  was  read  by 
Adjutant  Hopkins. 

At  13  o'clock  precisely  the  different  regiments  of 
the  brigade  and  division  were  marched  out  to  the  place 
selected  for  the  execution  and  formed  into  a  "hollow 
square."  The  officers  gave  their  orders  m  subdued 
voices,  and  the  men  obeyed  with  impressive  silence,  as 
the  rifles  were  dropped  to  the  ground  on  the  order  to 
' '  shou lder  arms. ' ' 

Straight  before  us  we  could  see  the  three  graves  that 
had  been  dug  and  into  which  vere  soon  to  be  consigned 
the  dead  and  mutilated  bodies  of  three  fellow  beings 
who  at  that  moment  were  as  alive  and  full  of  heallh 
and  vigor  as  we  were.  It  seemed  as  if  there  was  an 
unnecessary  delay  in  the  proceedings.  Everything 
seemed  to  be  done  with  painful  deliberation.  This  was 
perhaps  to  lend  additional  impressiveness  to  the  scene. 

There  was  no  use  for  that.  The  scene  was  sufficiently 
impressive  as  it  was. 

Then,  moving  so  slowly  that  they  scarcely  moved, 
came  in  the  wagons  containing  the  three  coffins  which 
were  soon  to  contain  the  bodies  of  the  unfortunates. 
Behind  the  coffins  came  an  ambulance  surrounded  by 
armed  soldiers. 

In  the  ambulance,  securely  manacled,  were  the  three 
doomed  victims  of  the  tragedy.  They  were  slowly, 
almost  tenderly,  assisted  from  the  ambulance,  and  led 
to  the  coffins. 


£54  TEE  TOTING   VOLUNTEER. 

There  was  a  coffin  at  the  head  of  each  of  the  three 
graves  and  the  men  were  seated  on  the  end  of  the  coffins. 
Each  man  sat  on  the  coffin  he  was  to  occupy ! 

Their  eyes  were  blindfolded,  their  hands  fastened  to 
their  backs,  and  their  legs  tied  together.  They  could 
neither  move  nor  see. 

The  firing  party  consisted  of  thirty-six  men  in  all. 
Eight  men  were  detailed  to  shoot  each  deserter,  making 
twenty-four  to  fire  at  the  first  order,  and  the  other 
twelve  v/ere  held  back  in  reserve,  to  finish  the  horrible 
work  in  case  there  was  any  sign  of  life  after  the  first 
volley. 

Not  a  man  of  that  detail  knew  whether  his  gun  was 
loaded.  This  was  a  merciful  provision  for  such  cases. 
In  each  squad  there  was  one  rifle  loaded  with  only  a  blank 
cartridge.  In  firing  a  musket,  one  cannot  tell  whether 
there  is  a  bullet  in  the  cartridge  or  not.  If  the  guns 
were  all  loaded  every  man  would  have  it  on  his  mind 
that  he  had  shot  a  fellow  being.  With  one  blank  in 
the  squad  no  man  knew  for  sure  whether  his  gun  had 
fired  a  fatal  shot  or  not. 

This  left  an  uncertainty  about  it  that  was  very  con- 
soling. Every  man  consoled  himself  with  the  idea  that 
he  had  the  blank  cartridge.  The  guns  had  been  loaded 
by  the  officers  at  the  division  headquarters  and  only  one 
or  two  officers  knew  which  of  the  rifles  were  really 
loaded.  Even  they  did  not  know  long,  for  the  guns 
were  mixed  up  indiscriminately  in  a  pile,  from  which 
each  member  of  the  firing  squad  picked  a  rifle  as  he 
was  marched  past. 

The  firing  squad  marched  to  the  place  of  execution 
with  slow  and  measured  tread,  which  served  to  still 
longer  prolong  the  painful  scene  and  add  to  the  already 
almost  unbearable  impressiveness  and  awfulness  of  the 
event. 

Then  the  death  sentence  was  read  again,  in  a  solemn 
manner.  Every  face  in  the  ranks  was  pale,  and  many 
of  the  men  were  trembling.  In  fact  some  of  their  knees 
were  shaking  so  that  they  could  hardly  stand  on  their 
feet.     I  plead  guilty  to  being  one  of  this  class. 

At  the  same  time  everybody  was  curious  enough  to 
watch  the  condemned  men.  The  handkerchiefs  tied 
over  their  eyes  obscured  the  upper  parts,  but  the  lower 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  255 

portions  could  be  seen.     They  were  ghastly — not  white, 
but  ashen  and  sickly  in  pallor. 

From  the  furthermost  parts  of  the  "square"  the  men 
could  see  the  unfortunate  and  terrified  victims  trem- 
bling. One  of  them  was  actually  shivering,  as  if  he 
had  a  severe  chill.  The  lips  of  two  could  be  seen  to 
move  slightly,  as  if  in  prayer.  There  is  little  doubt 
that  it  was  really  a  prayer. 

But  not  one  of  them  undertook  to  speak  a  word  aloud. 
They  had  all  evidently  made  up  their  minds  to  die  with- 
out a  flinch,  without  a  murmur  or  protest. 

Such  bravery  and  fortitude  as  this,  displayed  on  the 
battlefield,  would  have  won  them  a  pair  of  shoulder 
straps.  As  it  was,  it  was  the  ineffable  disgrace  of  being 
shot  as  a  deserter ! 

Chaplain  Beck,  of  the  Thirteenth  Regiment,  offered 
a  short  prayer  for  the  salvation  of  the  souls  of  the  un- 
fortunate men,  and  their  lips  seemed  to  move  in  response 
to  every  syllable  of  the  supplication.  Glancing  around 
furtively  among  my  companions,  I  noticed  tears  trick- 
ling down  many  a  bronzed  and  weatherbeaten  face. 

The  time  has  arrived ! 

The  firing  squad  were  placed  in  position,  only  a  few 
feet  in  front  of  the  condemned  men — eight  men  to  each 
deserter.  There  was  a  look  of  determination  on  the 
faces  of  the  firing  party,  and  yet  they  were  all  very 
pale.     They  all  stood  at  a  "shoulder  arms." 

It  is  usual  in  giving  the  order  to  shoot,  to  say,  suc- 
cessively, "Ready!  Aim!  Fire!"  But  in  this  in- 
stance a  somewhat  original  innovation  had  been  made 
to  the  usual  rule.  One  of  the  words  was  omitted. 
This  was  a  merciful  surprise,  both  to  the  condemned 
men  and  the  soldiers  who  were  compelled  to  witness  the 
execution.  The  officer  in  command  of  the  firing  party 
and  the  members  of  the  latter  themselves  were  the  only 
ones  who  had  been  informed  of  the  change  in  the  order. 
Consequently  it  came  upon  us  as  a  big  surprise,  I  might 
perhaps  better  say,  a  big  shock. 

"Ready!" 

So  commanded  the  officer  of  the  firing  party.  Every 
nerve  stretched  to  its  utmost  tension  as  the  men  in  front 
of  the  condemned  wretches  brought  their  pieces  up  to 


256  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

their  hips,  the  hammer  at  the  same  time  being  raised 
with  the  right  hand. 

I  felt  like  shutting  my  eyes  to  escape  seeing  what 
was  coming  next,  but  a  horrible  fascination  glued  my 
gaze  intensely  to  the  scene.  And  I  knew  of  course 
there  was  another  command,  "aim,"  before  the  shots 
were  finally  fired. 

But  no!  With  a  quick,  sharp  command  that  gave  us 
all  a  start,  which  came  so  unexpectedly  that  even  the 
condemned  deserters  probably  did  not  fully  comprehend 
it,  came  the  order : 

"Fire!" 

Like  lightning  twenty-four  cocked  muskets  jumped 
up  to  twenty-four  shoulders.  The  movement  was  made 
with  marvelous  rapidity.  Before  we  could  fully  com- 
prehend what  had  happened,  there  was  a  puff  of  smoke 
and  the  three  deserters  fell  over  backward  on  their 
coffins,  or  rather  I  should  say,  almost  into  them. 

We  saw  the  smoke  from  the  guns  before  hearing  the 
report,  of  course.  It  is  alwaj^s  that  way.  The  noise  of 
the  report  was  heard  simultaneously  with  the  sight  of 
the  dead  deserters  falling  backward. 

As  the  doomed  men  fell  over  they  seemed  to  stiffen 
out  convulsively,  so  that  they  did  not  go  over  bent  in 
the  sitting  posture,  but  as  if  they  had  been  standing  up, 
and  had  fallen  back  like  three  felled  trees.  From  the 
distance  where  I  stood  I  could  discern  no  signs  of  a 
struggle  or  even  a  convulsive  tremor.  Those  who  were 
close  by  failed  to  see  even  the  twitch  of  a  muscle. 

Their  deaths  must  have  been  instantaneous.  It  is 
doubtful  if  they  even  heard  the  reports  of  the  rifles  that 
shot  them,  for  at  that  distance  the  speed  of  a  bullet  is 
greater  than  that  of  sound. 

The  effect  of  the  tragedy  on  the  silent  witnesses  was 
peculiar.  Judging  from  my  own  sensations,  it  was  one 
of  intense  relief  that  it  was  all  over.  The  solemn  and 
impressive  preliminary  preparations  were  emphatically 
the  worst  part  of  the  whole  transaction.  As  if  a  great 
weight  had  been  lifted  the  sensation  was  one  rather  of 
exhilaration  than  of  depression,  for  the  time  being. 

But  this  was  not  permitted  to  last  long.  '  We  still 
bad  another  ordeal  to  pass  through,  perhaps  still  worse 
than  anything  that  had  preceded  it. 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  257 

We  were  marched  slowly  around  and  past  the  bloody 
bodies  of  the  three  executed  deserters  and  compelled  to 
gaze  upon  them  as  we  went  by.  This  was  a  shuddering 
ordeal,  and  all  the  more  tended  to  impress  the  lesson  the 
event  had  been  intended  to  convey. 

The  marksmen  had  performed  their  duties  well. 
Each  one  had  aimed  at  a  bit  of  paper  pinned  over  the 
condemned  men's  hearts.  It  will  be  remembered  that 
seven  only  out  of  each  eight  rifles  were  loaded  with 
bullets.  When  we  examined  the  body  of  Krubart,  the 
Thirteenth  Regiment  deserter,  it  was  found  that  the 
whole  seven  bullets  had  passed  through  his  body  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  his  heart.  Any  one  of  them 
would  have  caused  instant  death. 

The  results  in  the  cases  of  the  others  were  the  same. 
There  was  no  need  for  the  services  of  the  reserves  on 
this  occasion. 

The  bodies  were  buried  like  those  of  dogs.  Not  a 
word  of  burial  service  was  said  over  them.  The  bodies 
were  hurried  into  the  coffins  while  yet  warm,  the  coffins 
were  lowered  into  the  graves,  and  in  a  few  moments  the 
ground  was  leveled  over  them. 

No  head  board  or  other  marker  was  placed  over  the 
grave  of  an  executed  deserter.  He  merely  became  a 
part  and  parcel  of  mother  earth,  and  the  precise  where- 
abouts of  his  remains  were  never  known  afterward. 

We  marched  back  to  the  spot  where  we  were  to  camp 
for  the  night  without  much  talk,  but  everybody  was 
doing  a  good  deal  of  thinking.  What  was  everybody 
thinking  about?  I  think  the  answer  can  be  best 
given  in  the  laconic  remark  of  the  ever-ready  John  Ick : 

"By  jimminey,  poys,"  said  he,  "des  settles  it. 
Ven  you  sees  Yon  Ick  deserting  some  more  alretty,  he 
stays  py  de  regiment  all  de  times." 


258  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

FLOODED   OUT. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  the  lesson  had  a  salutary 
effect.  There  was  not  much  deserting  after  the  execu- 
tion of  the  three  men  at  Leesburg,  and  there  had  been 
a  good  deal  before  that  time.  It  seemed  hard  to  sacri- 
fice even  three  lives  for  such  a  purpose,  but  it  had  be- 
come necessary,  and  it  practically  put  a  stop  to  the 
practice  for  a  considerable  time. 

We  resumed  our  tiresome  march.  Where  we  were 
going  we  did  not  know.  It  was  nothing  but  getting  up 
early  in  the  morning,  marching  and  halting  all  day 
long,  and  passing  tired  nights  around  sickly  fires,  half- 
frozen. 

For  the  weather  was  getting  cold  now.  This  was 
adding  another  hardship  to  the  boys'  long  list  of 
troubles.  During  the  daytime  when  we  were  on  the 
move  it  was  possible  to  keep  comfortable.  It  was  even 
uncomfortably  warm  in  the  middle  of  the  day.  But  the 
nights  were  very  cold. 

Although  the  blankets  and  shelter  tents  and  overcoats 
were  just  as  heavy  as  ever,  yet  we  stuck  to  them  now, 
because  they  were  absolutely  necessary  for  comfort  at 
night.  I  use  the  word  "comfort"  with  some  mental 
reservation,  for  I  cannot  say  we  were  exactly  comforta- 
ble at  all  during  the  night. 

Some  one  suggested  that  the  Indians  slept  with  their 
feet  to  the  fires  and  that  if  the  feet  were  kept  warm  the 
rest  of  the  body  would  be  comfortable.  There  was  a 
good  deal  in  this,  as  we  found  out  from  experience,  but 
at  the  same  time  it  was  not  sufficient.  The  more  ordi- 
nary practice  was  to  sleep  with  one  side  turned  toward 
the  fires  for  a  while,  and  then  turn  the  other  side,  and  so 
on.     This  alternate  series  of  freezing  and  roasting  be- 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  259 

came  the  universal  rule,  and  as  the  boys  were  generally- 
crowded  so  closely  together  that  they  had  to  lie  spoon 
fashion,  it  became  a  sort  of  a  drill.  When  one  turned 
over,  the  other  had  to. 

There  are  some  men  who  are  born  to  command, 
whether  they  hold  rank  or  not.  This  soon  became  mani- 
fest in  this  "change  side"  order.  By  tacit  consent, 
some  one  particular  individual  gave  the  word  and  it 
was  obeyed.  No  attention  was  given  to  it  if  the  sug- 
gestion came  from  any  other  source.  This  was  a  singu- 
lar thing,  but  a  fact.  Some  one  soldier,  regardless  of 
rank,  would  always  be  accepted  as  the  leader  and  com- 
mander of  these  petty  duties,  not  in  the  strict  line  of 
military  service. 

Several  times  we  had  to  ford  creeks  that  were  quite 
deep.  This  was  not  so  bad  when  the  weather  was  mild, 
but  when  it  was  cold  it  added  suffering  as  well  as  dis- 
comfort. Then  there  was  apparently  a  good  deal  of 
unnecessary  marching.  We  would  go  for  a  distance 
along  some  road,  and  then  turn  and  go  another  way, 
as  if  the  leaders  had  lost  their  route.  This  made  a  good 
deal  of  grumbling. 

We  passed  through  Chantilly,  which  had  once  before 
been  the  scene  of  a  battle,  and  through  several  other 
places  that  were  big  enough  to  be  honored  with  a  name 
and  that  is  about  all.  Finally,  about  the  25th  of  De- 
cember, we  reached  the  Occoquan  creek  at  a  place  called 
Wolf  Run  Shoals. 

Here  we  had  an  experience  worth  describing. 

During  the  night  a  tremendous  storm  arose.  It  was 
one  of  the  worst  I  ever  remember. 

I  plainly  recall  my  own  experience  that  night.  John 
Butterworth  (my  pard)  and  myself  had  pitched  our 
little  "pup"  tent  on  the  side  of  a  hill  at  the  bottom  of 
which  was  a  good-sized  creek  or  brook. 

It  was  in  a  piece  of  woods  that  had  evidently  not 
been  occupied  by  troops  before,  for  the  trees  were  stand- 
ing, and  the  ground  was  covered  with  dry  twigs  and 
leaves.  The  skies  were  overcast  and  the  air  was  damp 
and  chilly,  but  we  did  not  think  that  there  was  going 
to  be  a  very  big  storm. 

"I  tell  you,  Joe,"  said  Butterworth,  "we're  lucky  to 


260  TEE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER. 

get  this  good  place  to-night.  See  the  leaves  I  have 
gathered  for  a  bed.  It  beats  a  spring  mattress.  There's 
many  a  poor  fellow  at  home  that  hasn't  such  a  good 
place  to  sleep  in  as  this." 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  pulling  the  blanket  up  under  my 
chin,  "and  this  slope  of  the  ground  is  just  right.  It 
brings  our  heads  higher  than  our  feet,  which  makes  it 
more  comfortable.  I'm  glad  I  didn't  throw  away  my 
blanket  in  to-day's  tramp,  aren't  you?" 

"You  bet  I  don't  throw  away  mine  while  the  cold 
weather  remains,"  said  Butterworth.  "It  is  pretty 
tough  sometimes  during  the  day,  but  they  come  in 
mighty  handy  at  night,  I  can  tell  you." 

"Don't  you  think  it  is  going  to  rain  to-night?"  I 
asked. 

"Wouldn't  be  surprised,"  replied  John.  "But  then 
what  do  we  care?  We  have  a  good  tent,  plenty  of 
blankets,  a  soft  bed,  and  even  a  canteen  full  of  spring 
water,  for  I  filled  the  canteen  fresh  just  before  I  turned 
in." 

"Where  is  the  canteen?"  I  asked.  "I  want  to  get  a 
drink  now." 

"Hanging  right  over  your  head,"  said  he,  "on  the 
tent  pole." 

I  took  a  good  drink  of  the  refreshing  draft,  and  John 
was  right,  for  it  was  as  fine  a  specimen  of  spring  water 
as  I  ever  tasted. 

We  talked  a  little  while  on  commonplace  subjects  and 
soon  fell  soundly  to  sleep.  Soldiers  were  too  tired  out 
on  such  occasions  to  indulge  in  much  talking  after  they 
were  in  bed,  and  when  they  once  got  asleep  they  slept 
soundly.  Only  those  who  have  had  that  experience  can 
fully  appreciate  the  soundness  of  the  sleep  of  a  tired 
soldier. 

I  was  awakened  during  the  night  some  time  by  the 
sound  of  the  ram  falling  in  torrents.  The  wind  blew  a 
gale  and  fairly  howled  through  the  branches  of  the  trees 
over  our  heads.  I  felt  uncomfortably  chilly,  and  turn- 
ing over  to  find  what  was  the  matter,  found  the  blankets 
both  under  and  over  me  soaking  wet. 

"What's  the  matter  now,  Joe?"  asked  Butterworth, 
waking  up. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  261 

"I  guess  that  confounded  old  canteen  of  yours  has 
sprung  a  leak,"  said  I,  "for  the  blankets  are  all  wet." 

We  made  an  examination  and  found  the  canteen  all 
right,  but  as  we  sat  up,  there  was  a  very  uncomfortable 
sensation  of  water  trickling  down  our  backs. 

"Phew!"  said  Butterworth,  "here's  a  pretty  mess. 
The  tent  has  sprung  a  leak.  The  blankets  are  soaked 
and  so  am  I.     I  am  wet  through." 

"You're  no  wetter  than  I  am,  I  guess,"  I  replied. 
"Let's  get  up  and  see  what  is  the  matter." 

We  pulled  the  blankets  from  the  ground  and  found  a 
stream  of  water  running  through  the  tent.  It  was  run- 
ning through  by  the  pailful.  It  will  be  remembered 
that  we  were  in  such  a  "nice  place"  on  the  side  of  the 
hill,  and  the  water  was  running  down  through  the  tent 
like  a  brook. 

We  got  outside.  It  was  better  to  be  standing  out  in 
the  rain  than  it  was  to  be  lying  there  in  a  brook.  We 
found  the  entire  regiment  up  and  standing  under  the 
trees,  each  man  wrapped  in  his  rubber  blanket,  to  pro- 
tect himself  as  well  as  he  might  from  the  pelting  rain- 
fall. 

A  more  forlorn  and  unhappy  lot  of  men  it  would  be 
hard  to  conceive.  There  we  were,  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  in  a  desolate  woods,  with  the  rain  falling  in  per- 
fect torrents.  And  how  it  did  rain !  It  came  down  by 
the  bucketful ! 

"I  haf  change  my  mind  alretty,"  said  John  Ick.  "I 
beliof  I  will  desert  alretty,  so  soon  by  I  got  chances." 

"What's  the  matter  now,  John?"  I  asked. 

"Dot's  vot  I  said  alretty,"  he  answered.  "Dose  fel- 
lers vat  vas  deserted  was  died  und  don'd  haf  to  go 
through  by  dot  rain-storm  all  the  times.  Dey  vash 
happy,  und  ve  vas " 

"That's  true,  John,"  I  said.  "They  are  dead  and 
maybe  they  are  happy.  I  can't  tell  about  that.  And 
we  are  not  very  happy.  There's  no  denying  that.  But 
at  the  same  time  wouldn't  you  rather  be  a  live  soldier 
than  a  dead  soldier?  And  maybe  perhaps  those  dead 
fellows  are  not  happy  after  all.  Maybe  they  went  to 
the  other  place,  where  the  people  are  not  so  happy,  ac- 
cording to  general  belief." 


282  riHE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

"I  don'd  care,  neider,"  said  John.  "Dose  fellers  vas 
warm  if  dey  goes  by  dot  under  places  vat  you  says 
don'd  was  so  happy  be.  Dey  vas  warm  and  dry  und  ve 
vas  wet  und  cold  alretty.  Ya,  I  wish  I  vas  dead  all 
the  times.  I  change  my  minds.  I  vas  goin'  to  desert 
so  soon  by  the  storm  vas  over." 

There  was  no  getting  over  this  argument.  The  exe- 
cuted deserters  might  be  in  purgatory,  as  Ick  said,  but 
if  they  were,  it  was  a  good  dry  place.  And  a  dry  place, 
in  our  present  frame  of  mind,  comprised  all  the  essential 
elements  of  complete  happiness. 

But  John  didn't  desert,  then  or  afterward.  He  was, 
as  a  rule,  a  good  soldier,  despite  all  his  talk. 

We  tried  many  times  to  light  a  fire,  but  were  unable 
to  do  so  Everything  was  so  water-soaked  that  nothing 
would  burn.  We  passed  through  a  miserable  night, 
and  when  it  came  daylight,  although  the  storm  let  up  a 
little,  we  were  a  miserable  lot,  soaked  to  the  skin,  shiv- 
ering, uncomfortable  and  hungry,  for  it  was  even  im- 
possible to  get  enough  of  a  fire  to  boil  coffee  for  break- 
fast. 

But,  sleep  or  no  sleep,  wet  or  dry,  hungry  or  sur- 
feited, the  ^operations  of  the  army  must  proceed.  The 
relentless  march  must  go  on.  Whatever  spot  we  were 
aiming  for  must  be  reached. 

And  so,  wet  and  tired,  hungry,  listless,  depressed  and 
enervated,  we  mechanically  obeyed  the  order  to — 

"Fall  in,  Thirteenth!" 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  £$ 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

RATHER  MUDDY. 

But  we  didn't  march  very  far  that  day.  When  night 
came  again  we  were  not  more  than  two  miles  from 
where  we  started  in  the  morning. 

And  now  for  the  first  time  we  encountered  what  was 
a  genuine  specimen  of  "Virginia  mud."  We  thought 
we  had  seen  Virginia  mud  before,  but  all  previous  ex- 
periences were  a  farce  in  comparison. 

The  storm  had  cleared  off.  That  is,  the  rain  had 
stopped  falling,  although  the  skies  were  still  overcast. 
It  was  but  a  short  distance  from  where  we  had  camped 
for  the  night  to  the  ford  at  Wolf  Run  Shoals,  over  the 
Occoquan  creek. 

It  was  called  a  ford,  because  in  ordinary  seasons  the 
water  is  only  a  foot  or  so  deep,  and  the  place  was  used 
for  a  crossing  for  wagons.  The  economical  Virginia 
grangers  never  wasted  county  appropriations  in  build- 
ing bridges  when  they  could  find  a  place  shallow  enough 
to  wade  across.  And  they  would  go  miles  out  of  their 
way  to  reach  the  ford. 

The  spot  was  called  Wolf  Run  on  account  of  a  tradi- 
tion that  in  former  days  it  used  to  be  a  favorite  haunt 
for  the  wild  ancestors  of  the  domestic  dog.  But  we 
saw  no  wolves.     Neither  did  we  see  any  ford. 

On  the  contrary  we  encountered  a  raging  creek. 
Usually  it  was  but  a  foot  or  so  deep.  Now  it  was  sev- 
eral feet  deep,  and  the  water  was  rushing  through  with 
the  speed  of  a  tail  race. 

The  mounted  officers  rode  across,  although  the  water 
was  high  enough  to  have  wet  their  feet  if  they  had  not 
held  them  up.  But  the  main  portion  of  the  vast  army 
was  not  mounted.  It  was  not  a  big  enough  stream  to 
use  pontoon  bridges,  and  there  was  not  time  to  construct 


264  THE  TOTTNG  YOLTTNTEEIL     i 

c  regular  'army  truss  bridge,  for  we  were  in  a  hurry. 
It  was  a  part  of  the  movement  somehow  or  other  con- 
nected with  the  Fredericksburg  campaign. 

As  things  turned  out  it  would  have  saved  time  for 
the  officers  to  have  stopped  the  entire  army  for  a  day  or 
so  and  built  substantial  bridges.  But  then  everybody's 
foresight  isn't  as  good  as  his  hindsight,  not  even  an 
army  officer's. 

There  were  plenty  of  large  trees  growing  along  the 
edge  of  the  creek  and  some  bright  genius  suggested  that 
these  trees  be  felled  in  such  a  way  as  to  fall  across  the 
stream  and  let  the  troops  go  over  these  logs. 

I  was  not  a  general.  I  was  not  even  a  commissioned 
officer.     I  was  "only  a  private." 

But  if  even  with  my  ignorance  I  could  not  have  de- 
vised something  better  than  that  I  think  I  would  have 
been  ashamed  of  myself.  The  idea  of  marching  an 
army  of  several  thousand  soldiers  across  a  log  over  a 
stream  of  water,  and  in  a  hurry  at  that,  was  simply 
ridiculous. 

And  yet  that  is  just  what  was  attempted.  I  forget 
how  many  of  these  primitive  bridges  were  thrown 
across  the  creek.  Perhaps  eight  or  ten.  They  were 
big  trees,  eighteen  inches  or  two  feet  in  diameter. 

I  saw  the  first  two  or  three  men  cross.  With  their 
heavy  rifles,  their  knapsacks  and  various  accouterments, 
they  had  about  all  they  could  do  to  walk  along  a  coun- 
try road,  let  alone  balance  themselves  on  something  only 
a  trifle  better  than  a  tight  rope.  It  took  perhaps  a 
minute  for  a  man  to  get  over. 

The  first  three  or  four  went  across  with  comparative 
ease.  Then  the  dripping  clothes  and  the  muddy  shoes 
of  the  men  began  to  besmear  the  round  top  of  the  logs, 
and  they  became  perilously  slippery.  From  that  mo- 
ment it  became  something  like  a  man  trying  to  walk 
along  the  top  of  a  rail  fence  with  a  pair  of  roller  skates 
on  his  feet. 

About  every  third  man  slipped  off  into  the  water  and 
of  course  that  was  not  a  very  pleasant  thing.  As  I  said 
before,  the  stream  was  deep  and  the  current  was  swift. 
The  first  two  or  three  unfortunates  were  nearly 
drowned,  hampered  as  they  were  with  their  cumber-* 


...  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  26o 

some  accouterments.  So,  below  each  of  the  log  bridges, 
they  established  a  cordon  of  cavalry,  to  catch  and  fish 
out  the  men  as  they  slipped  off.  Fully  one-half  the 
men  consequently  got  on  the  other  side  drenched  to  the 
skin. 

It  was  very  tedious.  We  had  to  wait  for  an  hour  or 
so  after  reaching  the  stream  to  get  a  chance  to  cross,  for 
it  could  only  be  done  one  by  one,  as  may  be  imagined. 
And  after  getting  to  the  other  side  we  had  to  wait  for 
the  rest  of  our  companions.  I  think  of  all  the  experi- 
ence I  ever  had  in  the  marching  line  this  took  the 
premium. 

I  felt  sure  that  I  would  be  one  of  the  fellows  to  slip 
off  the  log  and  go  into  the  water,  but  I  didn't.  Al- 
though I  slipped  and  scrambled  and  twisted  myself  into 
all  imaginable  shapes  in  keeping  my  balance,  I  man- 
aged to  get  over  somehow,  and  took  my  place  with  those 
waiting  for  the  others  to  come  over. 

Then  and  there  we  indulged  in  the  customary  kick- 
ing, and  the  army,  the  war  and  everything  connected 
with  it  was  cursed  uphill  and  down.  If  Jeff  Davis  had 
come  around  just  then  he  would  have  met  with  a  warm 
reception  from  a  disgusted  army.  The  loudest  in  their 
imprecations  were  of  course  those  who  had  tumbled  into 
the  creek  and  were  wet  to  the  skin  and  shivering  with 
the  cold,  as  they  tried  to  dry  themselves  by  the  sickly 
fires  that  had  been  kindled. 

In  the  meantime  the  wagons  were  coming  across  by 
fording.  Each  wagon  and  team  naturally  brought  up 
out  of  the  creek  its  quota  of  water,  which  dropped  off 
on  the  banks  as  they  emerged  from  the  creek.  This 
was  a  little  thing  at  first,  but  wagon  after  wagon  and 
team  after  team  soon  had  the  ground  saturated,  not  only 
close  by  the  creek,  but  for  some  distance  up  the  side  of 
the  bank. 

The  wheels  of  the  heavy  baggage  wagons,  wearing 
into  this,  mixed  it  over  and  over  again,  till  the  mud  got 
deeper  and  deeper.  First  it  was  a  few  inches  deep. 
Then  it  worked  down  till  it  was  a  foot  deep.  Soon  it 
was  up  to  the  hubs  of  wheels.  It  did  not  take  long  to 
work  the  mass  till  it  came  up  to  the  bellies  of  the  mules 
and  the  bodies  of  the  baggage  wagons. 


266  TEE  TO  UNO  VOLUNTEER. 

The  mud  grew  thinner  'and  thinner  till  it  was  of  the 
consistency  of  paste.  Its  color  was  a  bright  red,  as 
Virginia  mud  usually  is.  Not  only  did  it  grow  deeper 
and  deeper,  but  the  slough  extended  further  and  further 
until  it  was  fully  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  length,  if  not 
more. 

It  was  muddy  all  over  that  part  of  the  country  at  that 
particular  time.  In  the  wet  season  the  normal  constit- 
uent of  the  State  was  mud.  But  I  am  now  talking  of 
more  than  ordinary  mud.  The  sort  I  am  trying  to  de- 
scribe is  the  regular  old  army  mud,  such  as  was  only 
seen  by  the  soldiers  on  the  march. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  mud  was  too  deep  for  an 
ordinary  six-mule  team  to  drag  the  wagons  through. 
Teams  from  other  wagons  would  be  unhitched  to  help 
those  still  in  the  sloughs.  I  have  seen  not  only  twelve, 
but  frequently  twenty-four,  mules,  attached  to  a  bag- 
gage wagon  to  pull  it  out  of  a  mud  hole,  and  on  the  par- 
ticular day  I  am  talking  about  I  saw  thirty-six  mules 
attached  to  one  wagon,  and  yet  unable  to  budge  it. 

It  was  in  such  a  place  as  this  that  the  mule  would 
become  discouraged  and  lay  himself  down  and  die,  as  I 
have  described  in  a  previous  chapter. 

It  was  in  this  place  and  on  this  occasion,  that  origi- 
nated the  following  incident,  which  perhaps  some  of 
my  readers  have  heard  before : 

Out  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  resting  apparently  in 
a  mud  puddle  where  it  had  been  left,  lay  a  brand  new 
army  hat  of  the  "slouch"  pattern.  A  soldier  whose  hat 
was  somewhat  the  worse  for  wear  caught  sight  of  this, 
and  decided  to  secure  it.  The  mud  was  too  deep  for 
him  to  wade  out  for  the  hat  and  so  he  got  a  long  pole 
from  the  woods  and  reached  out  for  the  hat  with  the 
pole,  as  if  he  were  fishing. 

As  he  lifted  the  hat  on  the  end  of  the  pole  the  soldier 
was  astonished  to  see  that  he  had  exposed  a  human 
head.  And  not  only  a  head,  but  a  very  much  alive  one 
at  that,  with  the  mouth  in  good  working  order. 

"Here  you,"  shouted  the  head,  "what  are  you  about 
there?     Put  that  hat  right  back  where  you  got  it!" 

<lI  didn't  know  you  were  there/'  replied  the  soLUer 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  207 

■who  had  just  fished  off  the  hat,  as  he  tried  to  wiggle 
the  pole  around  so  that  it  would  fall  back  on  the  head. 

"I  didn't  know  there  was  anything  under  that  hat. 
Don't  you  want  some  one  to  help  you  out  of  the  mud?" 

"N-no,  I  g-guess  not,"  said  the  man  in  the  mud 
nonchalantly,  "I  have  a  good  horse  under  mo,  and  I 
guess  he  will  bring  me  out  all  right  after  awhile  1" 


268  TEE  TOtTNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

AN  UNCOMFORTABLE  NIGHT. 

I  don't  know  if  that  man's  good  horse  ever  brought 
him  safely  out  of  the  mud,  hut  I  do  know  that  the  story 
is  not  so  much  of  an  exaggeration  as  it  might  appear  at 
first  glance.  No  amount  of  extravagant  description 
could  greatly  exaggerate  the  depth,  diabolical  character 
and  general  cussedness  of  Virginia  mud. 

A  soldier  cannot  march  in  boots.  Experience  soon 
proved  that  the  only  proper  footgear  was  a  broad,  low- 
cut  shoe.  This  was  of  course  no  protection  to  the  mud. 
The  usual  custom  was  to  pull  the  woolen  stocking  up 
on  the  outside  of  the  trousers,  forming  a  sort  of  legging. 
That  protected  the  bottom  of  the  pantaloons,  and  made 
marching  easier.  But  as  may  be  imagined  the  shoes 
were  soon  full  of  mud  and  water  and  one's  feet  were 
constantly  in  soak. 

In  civil  life  it  is  supposed  to  be  a  dangerous  thing  to 
go  long  with  wet  feet,  but  some  kind  Providence  must 
have  inured  the  soldier  to  this.  None  seemed  to  be 
much  the  worse  for  it.  Of  all  the  ailments  of  life  ordi- 
nary colds  were  the  least  troublesome  to  the  soldier  after 
he  had  become  once  hardened  to  the  service. 

But  that  it  must  have  had  an  effect  on  the  health  is 
evident  from  the  large  numbers  of  veterans  to-day  who 
are  suffering  from  rheumatism  and  kindred  ailments, 
all  unquestionably  the  result  of  the  exposure  suffered 
while  in  the  army. 

That  day,  with  the  mud  and  wet  and  the  cold,  was 
one  of  the  hardest  we  ever  experienced.  In  ordinary 
times  we  would  have  thought  little  of  a  twenty-mile 
march  in  a  day,  but  on  that  particular  day  we  did  not 
make  more  than  two  miles,  and  when  night  came  we 
were  completely  exhausted  with  the  fatigue  of  the  day. 


THE  TOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  269 

We  went  into  camp  that  night  within  a  mile  of  the 
crossing  at  Wolf  Run  Shoals,  and  not  two  miles  from 
where  we  had  slept  the  night  before  on  the  hillside, 
where  the  rain  poured  down  our  backs.  It  wasn't  a 
jolly  crowd  that  night.  Everything  was  wet  through. 
It  was  almost  impossible  to  find  a  piece  of  wood  dry 
enough  to  burn.  Butter  worth  and  I,  however,  man- 
aged to  discover  and  cut  down  a  couple  of  good-sized 
sassafras  trees.  These,  no  matter  how  wet,  will  burn 
like  pine,  although  they  make  a  terrific  smoke. 

Of  all  the  trees  that  grow  in  the  woods,  none  will 
burn  as  readily  when  green  as  sassafras,  a  fact  which 
the  rising  generation  should  remember,  as  it  might  be 
of  use  to  them  in  case  there  is  ever  another  war — which 
God  forbid. 

Poor,  clumsy  John  Ick  was  of  course  one  of  the  fel- 
lows who  had  fallen  off  the  slippery  log  into  the  creek 
and  got  wet  through.  This  nearly  led  to  a  fatal  dis- 
ruption between  him  and  his  "pard,"  Reddy  Mahar. 

"Ye  clumsy  blackguard,"  said  Reddy,  "couldn't  ye 
kape  on  ye're  feet  loike  a  sober  man.  How  d'ye  sup- 
pose Oi'me  a-goin'  to  sleep  wid  ye  this  night?" 

"I  don't  care,  needer,"  said  Ick,  "you  can  schleeps 
where  you  likes.  You  don't  have  some  tents  to  schleep 
mit,  under  you  don'd  schleep  by  me,  all  the  times." 

"The  divil  I  don't.  Half  uf  that  tint  is  moin,  and 
Oi'll  roll  meself  up  inside  uf  it,  and  no  thanks  to  ye  for 
a  favor,  ye  spalpeen." 

"No,  you  don't,  needer.  Both  pieces  by  dot  tents  vas 
mine.  Don'd  you  remember  dot  you  loose  your  tents 
de  under  night,  Reddy?" 

"Oi  didn't  lose  my  tent  at  all  at  all,  you  old  slaugh- 
ter house.     Half  uf  that  tint  is  moin  and  ye  know  it. ' ' 

"Nein.  You  vas  mistooken,  Reddy.  You  know  you 
lose  your  halluf  de  under  day,  und  you  don'd  draw 
some  more  from  the  quartermaster  alretty." 

"Ye  can't  come  that  over  me,  ye  spalpeen,"  answered 
Reddy,  as  he  proceeded  to  seize  half  the  "pup"  tent 
from  Ick.  John  grabbed  the  other  end,  and  they  began 
to  pull  on  the  two  sides  of  the  piece  of  canton  flannel. 

The  language  that  ensued  between  the  two  during 
the  scramble  that  took  place  for  the  possession  of  that 


£.;0-  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

piece  of  tent  was  altogether  unparliamentary.  It  was  a 
funny  conglomeration  of  Celtic  and  Teutonic,  and  beat 
any  character  dialect  acting  that  was  ever  placed  on  the 
variety  stage. 

You  have  perhaps  seen  the  picture  of  the  pug  dog  and 
the  baby  tugging  at  the  two  legs  of  the  rag  doll,  and  if 
you  have  you,  no  doubt  remember  the  fate  of  the  doll. 
Well,  that  was  the  fate  of  the  piece  of  "pup"  tent.  It 
came  in  two  and  was  torn  to  pieces  in  the  struggle. 

Then  a  grab  was  made  for  the  other  half  of  the  tent, 
and  before  long  it  met  the  same  fate.  That  was  torn  to 
pieces  also. 

After  the  mischief  had  been  done,  the  two  belliger- 
ents gazed  upon  the  ruin,  and  then  looked  each  other  in 
the  face  for  a  moment  as  a  curious  expression  came  over 
their  countenances. 

"John,"  said  Reddy,  whose  sense  of  the  ludicrous  al- 
ways overcame  his  animosity  on  such  occasions,  "we're 
a  pair  of  fools,  that's  phwat's  we  are." 

"And  I  vas  anudder,  Reddy,"  replied  Ick. 

That  settled  the  difficulty  then  and  there.  The  two 
worthies  shook  hands  cordially,  and  were  extra vagantly 
profuse  in  offering  each  other  the  use  of  their  blankets 
for  the  night.  Reddy  and  John  had  no  tent  at  all  that 
night,  nor  for  a  number  of  nights  afterward,  in  conse- 
quence of  that  disastrous  quarrel,  but  they  were  closer 
friends  than  ever.  Although  Ick  was  wet  through,  and 
must  have  been  a  very  uncomfortable  bedfellow,  they 
slept  that  night  as  close  as  brothers,  and  not  a  word  of 
complaint  was  heard  on  either  side,  although  they  must 
have  been  anything  but  comfortable. 

This  is  only  one  of  the  many  examples  of  the  peculiar 
incompatibility  of  these  strange  "pards."  They  were 
always  quarreling  and  there  was  scarcely  a  day  that 
they  did  not  have  a  fight.  They  did  not  seem  to  be  able 
to  agree  upon  anything.  And  yet,  if  any  one  abused 
one  of  them,  the  other  always  took  it  up,  and  behind 
the  uncouth,  incongruous  exterior  there  was  a  depth  of 
friendship  that  was  astonishing. 

There  was  many  another  soldier  that  night  that  had 
a  wet  "pard,"  although  there  was  not  the  same  way 
adopted  for  the  settlement  of  the  matter  as  in  the  case 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  271 

of  Mahar  and  Ick.  But  if  there  was  anybody  comforta- 
ble and  happy  in  camp  that  night  I  did  not  hear  of  it. 
In  the  course  of  my  war  experience  I  do  not  think  that 
patriotism  was  ever  at  a  lower  ebb  than  it  was  that 
night. 

We  were  glad  enough  when  it  was  morning.  Then 
we  learned  that  not  half  the  army  had  been  got  across 
the  creek,  and  it  had  been  decided  during  the  night  by 
the  officers  in  command  to  retrace  our  steps  and  take 
some  other  route. 

This  was  one  of  the  things  that  always  disgusted  the 
soldier — to  spend  a  whole  day  getting  somewhere  and 
then  immediately  go  back  again.  We  could  not  under- 
stand the  why  and  wherefore  of  such  things  of  course, 
although  there  must  have  been  some  reason.  But  the 
why  and  wherefore  was  not  explained  to  the  private 
soldiers. 

"  Their's  not  to  reason  why, 
Their's  but  to  do  and  die.'' 

It  did  not  take  so  long  to  get  back,  for  the  weather 
was  still  colder  and  the  mud  had  partially  dried  and 
partially  frozen,  so  that  it  was  not  near  as  deep  as  it  was 
the  previous  day.  The  water  in  the  creek  had  also  gone 
down  so  that  it  could  be  forded,  and  many  crossed  that 
way,  although  I  stuck  to  the  log  and  again  managed  to 
get  across  without  tumbling  off.  We  marched  some 
distance  further  back  that  day,  and  before  night  reached 
Fairfax  Station,  a  place  where  we  were  to  remain  for 
awhile,  it  was  said,  as  the  weather  was  getting  too  cold 
for  army  movements. 

And  as  we  marched  into  camp  that  night  it  began  to 
snow.  It  was  a  tradition  that  it  did  not  snow  very 
often  in  that  part  of  the  country ;  it  did  that  afternoon, 
and  it  snowed  as  hard  as  I  ever  saw  it  snow  in  the 
North. 

Here  was  another  new  experience.  We  had  suffered 
from  the  intense  heat  of  the  sun  and  we  had  gone 
through  some  pretty  cold  nights  already  We  had  been 
drenched  to  the  skin  in  the  rain  and  half -drowned  from 
fording  creeks.  But  this  was  the  first  time  we  had  ever 
encountered  a  snowstorm. 


272  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

Although  it  might  not  be  thought  to  be  a  fact,  yet  it 
is  not  nearly  as  cold  to  be  outdoors  in  an  ordinary  snow 
storm  as  when  it  is  a  clear  cold.  The  principal  incon- 
venience was  in  the  fact  that  the  snow  covered  up  the 
twigs  and  little  sticks  in  the  woods  which  were  so  use- 
ful in  kindling  and  maintaining  fires  in  camp. 

But  the  ever  willing  Butterworth,  "my  pard,'' 
hustled  through  under  the  trees,  pushing  the  snow  from 
the  ground  with  his  feet,  and  gathered  a  big  armful  of 
small  branches  and  brushes  while  I  went  to  the  nearest 
stream  and  filled  the  canteens.  We  put  up  the  *pup' ' 
tent  and  had  everything  fixed  nicely  for  the  night,  and 
were  preparing  to  cook  some  lobscouse  for  supper,  when 
to  my  intense  disgust  I  heard  my  named  called  to  go  on 
picket. 

So,  donning  my  haversack  and  equipments,  and  de- 
ferring my  supper  till  later,  I  fell  in  line,  with  my  com- 
panions, and  started  for — no  soldier  knows  where  he 
starts  for  I 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  273 


CHAPTER  L. 

A  LESSON   IN   GUERRILLAS. 

On  the  way  to  the  picket  headquarters  we  were  cau- 
tioned to  be  careful,  as  although  the  main  portion  of  the 
rebel  army  was  some  distance  from  that  spot,  yet  there 
had  been  some  evidences  of  guerrillas  around  and  they 
might  make  a  raid  upon  us  at  any  moment. 

"What  are  guerrillas?"  I  imagine  I  hear  the  reader 
ask. 

Guerrillas  were  isolated  detachments  of  the  cavalry 
of  the  enemy.  They  did  not  seem  to  be  connected  with 
any  main  branch  of  the  Confederate  army,  but  con- 
ducted the  war  on  a  sort  of  a  go-as-you-please  principle. 
They  rode  in  detachments  of  from  fifty  to  five  hundred 
men. 

The  guerrillas  particularly  infesting  the  Virginia  cam- 
paign were  Moseby's,  Morgan's,  Stuart's,  and  Wheel- 
er's. They  were  generally  called  "men,"  that  is, 
"Moseby's  men,"  "Stuart's  men,''  etc.  A  rumor  that 
any  of  these  bushwackers  were  in  the  neighborhood 
always  put  the  soldiers  on  the  alert. 

The  particular  province  of  the  guerrillas  was  to  harass 
the  Northern  army.  I  suppose  there  were  similar 
guerrillas  on  the  Northern  side,  but  we  did  not  come 
across  them,  of  course.  In  the  Union  army,  if  there 
were  such  things,  they  were  given  the  more  dignified 
appellation  of  "skirmishing  parties." 

The  guerrillas  also  perhaps  made  it  a  part  of  their 
business  to  take  hasty  surveys  of  the  Union  forces,  posi- 
tions and  strength.  They  would  suddenly  dash  down 
upon  our  camps,  generally  in  the  night  time,  and  gal- 
loping through  the  lines  would  cut  and  slash  and  shoot 
after  the  manner  of  a  lot  of  Western  cowboys  on  a 
round-up  through  some  small,  out-of-the-way  settle- 
ment, 


W4.  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

Their  appearance  was  generally  so  sudden  and  unex- 
pected that  it  found  the  Union  soldiers  unprepared  for 
it.  They  would  dash  through  the  picket  lines,  rush 
through  the  camps,  and  then  as  suddenly  disappear,  be- 
fore our  lines  could  be  formed  to  drive  them  off.  Cav- 
alry has  no  chance  to  fight  against  infantry  when  the 
latter  is  once  formed  into  a  "hollow  square,"  but  that 
takes  some  time  to  form,  and  the  guerrillas  would  nave 
disappeared  before  the  boys  had  received  the  orders  to 
fall  in. 

There  was  one  good  thing  about  the  guerrillas.  Their 
proximity  always  served  to  make  the  soldiers  more  on 
the  alert.  The  report  that  guerrillas  had  been  seen 
around  always  kept  the  pickets  and  everybody  else  on 
the  qui  vive. 

Our  picket  post  was  a  very  lonesome  spot  at  the  edge 
of  a  woods.  It  continued  to  snow  quite  hard  and  the 
ground  was  covered  to  the  depth  of  several  inches.  We 
managed  to  start  a  fire,  however,  and  made  ourselves 
as  comfortable  as  possible  under  the  circumstances. 

I  was  on  the  second  relief  and  did  not  have  to  go  on 
post  till  11  o'clock.  We  thought  it  was  no  use  trying 
to  get  any  sleep  before  starting  out,  we  fellows  on  the 
second  relief,  and  consequently  sat  around  the  fire,  after 
cooking  some  coffee,  and  indulged  in  talk. 

"Those  guerrillas,"  said  one  of  the  Third  Wisconsin 
boys  to  me,  as  we  sat  there  smoking  our  pipes,  "are  a 
derned  nuisance.  I  remember  once  before  the  Second 
Bull  Run  they  made  a  raid  through  our  camp  and  gave 
us  the  derndest  scare  you  ever  saw.  We  were  a  sittin* 
around  the  fire  just  like  this,  when  all  of  a  suddint  there 
was  a  whoop  and  a  hurrah,  and  a  lot  of  shootin'.  Then 
the  guerrillas  dashed  through  us,  firing  and  slashing  and 
yelling  like  Injuns.  None  of  us  was  shot,  but  one  of 
the  Twenty -seventh  Infantry  boys  got  a  slash  on  the 
arm  with  a  saber.  They  was  right  through  us  afore  we 
could  do  anything.  Then  they  dashed  down  through 
camp,  clear  through,  mind  you,  with  their  yelling  and 
racket,  and  went  out  of  the  other  side,  and  all  so  sud- 
dint that  not  a  single  one  of  them  was  shot." 

"What  is  the  sense  of  it  all?"  I  asked.  "What  ob- 
ject have  they  in  making  these  rushes  through  camp?" 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  2?5 

"Derned  if  I  know,"  replied  the  veteran.  "Pure 
cussedness,  I  guess.  If  they  find  there's  only  a  small 
force  they  will  grab  up  everything  they  can  cany.  If 
there  is  a  big  army  lying  around  they  simply  dash 
through.  I  guess  it  is  simply  to  find  out  how  many 
there  are  on  our  side  and  perhaps  to  give  us  a  little 
scare. ' ' 

"Do  they  ever  attack  the  picket  posts?"  I  asked 
somewhat  nervously. 

"Oh,  yes,  that's  their  main  hold.  One  time  down 
on  die  Peninsula  they  raided  the  post  I  was  on,  wound- 
ing the  sergeant  and  one  of  the  men,  and  they  grabbed 
our  blankets  and  haversacks  and  guns  and  skedaddled 
before  we  could  say  beans.  Say,  I'd  rather  go  into  a 
good-sized  battle  than  be  raided  by  guerrillas.  Not  that 
there  is  so  much  danger,  but  it  gives  a  fellow  such  a 
scare,  you  know,  and  you.  don't  get  over  it  for  some 
time.  Somenow  after  you  have  once  been  raided  by 
guerrillas  you  have  no  confidence  in  yourself  for  a  long- 
time, especially  when  you  are  out  on  some  lonesome 
post  on  a  dark  night." 

"Do  you  think  we  are  likely  to  have  any  guerrillas 
around  to-night?"  I  asked.  I  was  beginning  to  feel  a 
very  lively  personal  interest  in  the  matter,  considering 
the  fact  that  I  would  have  to  go  on  post  in  a  short 
time. 

"I  wouldn't  be  much  surprised,"  was  the  reply.  "I 
heard  the  officers  say  as  how  guerrillas  had  been  seen 
near  by  some  of  the  skirmishers,  and  it  kind  o'  looked 
as  if  they  might  be  along  this  way  afore  mornin'.  But 
then  we  will  keep  on  the  lookout  for  them." 

"Isn't  it  rather  dangerous  to  have  a  fire  burning  like 
this,  so  that  they  can  see  where  we  are?"  I  asked. 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  as  how  that  makes  much  differ- 
ence They  would  come  anyhow,  fire  or  no  fire.  And 
say,  if  a  fellow  was  going  to  go  without  a  fire  simply 
because  there  might  be  guerrillas  around,  he  would 
freeze  to  death  before  the  winter  was  over.  We  have 
to  take  chances  on  that." 

"But  then  a  man  is  in  more  danger  when  he  is  out 
alone  on  post,  isn't  he?"  I  asked. 

"To  be  sure,    pard,"    was   the  encouraging  reply. 


276  THE  YOUm   VOLUNTEER. 

"You  have  to  keep  your  eyes  open.  But  then  you  can 
hear  the  tramp  of  the  horses  long  before  they  are  near, 
unless  they  have  the  hoofs  muffled,  which  they  some- 
times do.  Then  you  can  hardly  hear  them  till  they 
are  close  on  top  of  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  having  their  hoofs  muffled?" 
I  asked  wonderingly. 

"Why,  they  sometimes  have  sort  o'  cushions  or  pads 
on  the  feet  of  their  horses,  and  they  go  along  softly,  like 
a  man  wearing  gum  shoes.  They  don't  do  this  very  often, 
you  know,  but  they  do  sometimes,  and  then  they  make 
scarcely  any  noise  at  all.  An  old  soldier,  however, 
soon  gets  to  know  the  guerrillas  are  coming  even  with 
the  horses'  hoofs  muffled,  if  they  only  learn  how  and 
keep  a  close  watch." 

"How  do  they  do  that?"  I  asked.  I  was  getting  in- 
terested. 

"The  weight  of  the  horse  as  he  comes  down  when  on 
the  gallop,  makes  a  sort  of  thud,  you  see,  and  although 
it  is  little,  it  jars  the  ground  just  enough  to  feel  it. 
You  hear  them  through  your  feet.  If  you  suspect  that 
there  is  something  of  the  sort  going  on,  just  plant  your- 
self solid  on  the  ground,  both  heels  down.  Don't  raise 
on  your  toes,  but  put  your  whole  weight  on  your  heels. 
Then  the  sound  of  the  cavalry  a-comin'  will  go  up 
through  your  legs." 

"It's  just  the  same  if  they  are  galloping  toward  you 
through  the  mud  or  over  soft  ground?"  I  suggested. 

"No,  it  isn't,  either.  When  galloping  through  soft 
ground  there  is  a  sort  of  a  kerchuck  and  a  suckin'  as 
the  hoofs  come  out  of  the  muck,  that  you  can  hear  quite 
a  distance  on  a  still  night.  And  then  with  the  ground 
muddy  and  soft  you  can't  hear  them  coming  by  the 
sound  passing  through  your  legs,  as  I  have  said.  It  is 
only  on  solid  ground  with  the  hoofs  muffled  that  you 
can  hear  the  rumble  through  your  legs  when  you  can't 
hear  them  with  your  ears." 

"But  can't  you  hear  the  rattle  of  the  sabres  and  other 
things?  I  have  noticed  that  there  is  aways  a  consider- 
able lot  of  jingling  with  a  company  of  cavalry." 

"Oh,  they  have  them  things  muffled  too,"  was  the 
reply.     "When    they  muffle   the    hoofs,    they  muffle 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  27? 

everything  else  and  come  along  like  a  loto'  spooks.  As 
I  said  afore,  the  only  way  you  can  hear  them  is  through 
your  legs,  with  your  feet  firmly  planted  on  the  ground." 

"Do  you  think  it  likely  that  we  will  be  visited  by 
any  of  these  fellows  to-night?"  I  asked,  as  unconcern- 
edly as  I  could. 

"Shouldn't  be  surprised,  pard,"  was  the  answer;  "I 
heard  the  officers  say  as  they  thought  we  would  likely 
have  a  scrimmage  with  them  before  long,  and  the  way 
we  have  moved  about  lately  is  another  sign  that  there 
are  some  rebs  not  very  far  off.  But  you  and  I  have  to 
go  on  the  second  relief  and  then  we'll  find  out.  Better 
be  careful  to-night  and  keep  a  close  watch,  and  remem- 
ber what  I've  been  telling  you  about  listening  with 
your  feet  as  well  as  with  your  ears." 

"I  will  that,"  I  replied.  "And  I  am  much  obliged 
for  the  information  you  have  given  me  to-night,  for  it  is 
something  I  never  heard  of  before,  and  I  might  have 
been  caught  napping,  for  I  never  heard  of  horses  having 
their  hoofs  muffled." 

"It's  a  fact,  all  the  same,  and " 

"Fall  in,  second  relief!" 

This  interrupted  the  conversation,  and  we  strapped  on 
our  cartridge  belts  and  picked  up  our  rifles  to  go  on 
picket,  perhaps  to  be  attacked  by  the  hated  guerrillas. 


878  THE  YOUNG   YOLUNTFEB. 


CHAPTER  LI. 
"i'm  not  afkaid." 

It  was  an  awfully  lonesome  place  where  I  was  posted 
on  picket  at  11  o'clock  that  night.  It  struck  me  that 
it  was  the  furthermost  post  of  the  entire  picket  line. 
At  all  events  I  was  the  last  man  of  our  detail  to  be 
posted  and  I  could  neither  see  nor  hear  any  one  further- 
out. 

The  snow  was  falling,  but  not  so  hard  as  it  had  been. 
It  was  not  as  dark  as  it  would  have  been  had  there  been 
no  snow  on  the  ground,  but  there  were  obstacles  in  the 
way  of  my  seeing  very  far. 

My  post  was  alongside  a  clump  of  small  trees, 
scarcely  more  than  bushes.  About  fifty  yards  behind 
me  was  the  woods,  but  I  did  not  anticipate  attack  from 
that  direction,  as  there  lay  the  Union  army.  About  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  in  front  there  was  another  wood,  and 
about  halfway  between  there  was  a  stone  fence,  per- 
haps four  or  five  feet  in  height. 

After  the  snow  had  stopped  falling  so  thickly,  I  could 
see  quite  plainly  as  far  as  the  stone  fence,  and  that  par- 
ticular thing  was  the  object  of  my  most  earnest  solici- 
tude. I  could  not  help  thinking  that  there  might  be 
some  rebels  concealed  behind  that  excellent  breastwork. 

Then  I  remembered  what  the  old  veteran  of  the  Third 
Wisconsin  had  been  saying  to  me.  It  struck  me  that  a 
horse  with  muffled  hoofs  would  make  very  little  noise 
galloping  over  ground  covered  with  three  or  four  inches 
of  snow,  and  that  made  me  all  the  more  watchful. 

I  commenced  to  practice  the  art  of  hearing  through 
my  legs  as  I  had  been  instructed.  I  shuffled  a  clear 
place  in  the  snow  and  stood  on  my  heels  with  legs  stiff- 
ened out  till  they  became  lame.  I  paced  up  and  down 
my  beat  and  at  each  end  and  about  the  middle,  stopped 


TEE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  279 

to  listen,  first  with  ears,  and  then  by  standing  still,  rest- 
ing the  weight  on  my  stiffened  legs,  and  straining  every 
sense  of  observation  and  conception  to  see  if  I  could  -dis- 
tinguish any  unusual  noise,  or  any  abnormal  trembling 
of  the  ground. 

But  everything  remained  as  still  as  a  graveyard. 
Everybody  knows  how  snow  muffles  all  sounds,  even 
in  a  big  city.  There  out  in  the  country,  at  midnight, 
alone,  in  a  dismal  corner,  the  stillness  was  oppressive. 
It  was  almost  supernatural.  The  sense  of  the  loneliness 
was  intense. 

Now  and  then,  as  we  simultaneously  reached  the  ends 
of  our  respective  beats,  I  could  catch  a  glance  of  my 
next  companion  on  the  picket  line,  and  we  would  ex- 
change a  few  words.  We  had  been  cautioned  to  keep 
very  quiet  and  listen  intently  all  night,  but  this  became 
unbearable,  and  finally  when  I  came  up,  after  several 
turns,  and  again  met  my  neighboring  picket,  I  was  glad 
to  hear  him  suggest  that  we  stop  and  have  a  talk. 

He  was  a  member  of  the  Second  Massachusetts.  This 
regiment  was  composed  almost  entirely  of  college  boys. 
Nine-tenths  of  the  members  left  college  with  Colonel 
Gordon  to  go  to  the  war.  Consequently  in  intelligence 
and  general  information  that  regiment  probably  had  no 
equal  in  the  entire  army. 

My  companion  was  a  young  fellow,  not  over  nineteen 
years  of  age,  only  a  little  older  than  myself.  He  was  a 
delicate-looking,  refined  young  fellow,  and  had  an  en- 
tertaining manner  of  talking,  strikingly  different  from 
the  language  of  the  uncouth  Western  men  belonging  to 
the  Wisconsin  and  Indiana  regiments  of  our  brigade. 

"It  seems  to  be  very  quiet  out  here  to-night,  partner," 
said  he.  He  didn't  even  use  the  ordinary  abbreviation 
and  say  "pard." 

"It  is,"  I  replied.  "And  I  have  been  listening  with 
all  my  ears  and  legs  for  the  guerrillas  they  said  might 
be  around  to-night." 

"So  have  I.  They  said  that  there  were  guerrillas  in 
this  vicinity  during  the  afternoon  and  I  was  told  to  be 
very  careful,  but  so  far  I  have  never  seen  a  quieter 
night.  I  haven't  even  heard  or  seen  any  signs  of  a  'coon 
or  'possum.  How  do  you  like  this  sort  of  life,  any- 
how?" 


$80  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

"I  can't  say  that  I  like  it  at  all,"  I  replied,  honestly, 
"Especially  on  such  a  night  as  this." 

"It  isn't  such  a  bad  night,"  said  my  companion.  "I 
would  a  good  deal  rather  have  this  sort  of  weather  "than 
a  hard  rain." 

"I  don't  know  but  I  would,  too,"  I  answered,  "but  I 
was  speaking  generally.  I  don't  like  picket  duty  any- 
how. A  fellow  never  knows  what  is  going  to  happen 
and  has  to  keep  on  the  alert." 

"That's  so,  but  then  there  really  isn't  as  much 
danger  as  one  would  suppose.  I  have  been  on  picket 
a  good  deal,  and  never  yet  had  any  trouble  but  once, 
and  that  was  just  before  the  Second  Bull  Kun,  when 
the  rebel  guerrillas  made  a  skirmish  upon  us  and  drove 
us  back.  That  is  the  only  time  I  ever  had  the  least 
trouble,  or  even  a  scare." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  guerrillas  coming  down 
upon  you  in  the  night  with  their  horses'  hoofs  muffled?" 
I  asked.  And  I  explained  what  the  Wisconsin  [soldier 
had  told  me. 

"Yes,  I've  often  heard  of  that,"  he  answered,  "but 
to  tell  the  truth  I  never  met  a  fellow  who  actually  saw 
it.     I  don't  see  how—     Hark!     What  is  that?" 

I  was  much  startled  at  the  sudden  manner  in  which 
he  had  interrupted  his  own  conversation.  We  both 
listened  intently. 

It  was  the  sound  of  galloping  horses,  and  not  muffled 
at  that.  We  also  heard  the  unmistakable  clanking  of 
the  sword  scabbards  as  they  jingled  around  against  the 
stirrups  of  the  saddles. 

The  clanking  of  cavalry  sabers  is  an  unmistakable 
sound.  No  one  who  had  once  heard  it  could  be  misled 
as  to  what  it  was. 

My  companion  hurried  down  a  little  further  on  his 
own  post  while  I  sneaked  back  to  the  little  clump  of 
trees  referred  to.  The  sound  of  the  clanking  swords 
sounded  louder  and  louder  as  the  cavalry,  whatever  it 
was,  came  nearer. 

Whatever  it  was  it  apparently  made  no  attempt  to  be 
quiet.  There  was  no  muffled  hoof  business  about  this, 
that  was  sure. 

I  was  not  a  little  startled,  however,  when  the  ap- 


THE  70 UNO   VOLUNTEER.  281 

proaching  horsemen  made  tbeir  sudden  appearance 
around  a  bend  in  tbe  woods.  It  did  not  strike  me  at 
tbe  moment  that  they  were  coming  from  the  Union  side 
of  the  line,  or  I  might  have  inferred  what  it  was. 

I  cocked  my  rifle,  however,  to  be  ready  for  any  emer- 
gency, and  determined  to  put  on  as  brave  a  front  as 
possible,  although  to  tell  the  truth  I  was  shaking. 

I  remember  that  it  struck  me  then  that  there  was 
something  wrong  about  the  tactics  and  regulations  for 
a  man  on  picket.  Instead  of  first  crying  "Who  comes 
there?"  and  then  shooting  in  case  the  answer  was  not 
satisfactory,  I  thought  the  operation  ought  to  be  reversed 
—in  other  words,  the  shooting  to  come  first  and  the  in- 
quiry after.  It  would  have  given  a  fellow  a  good  deal 
better  chance  for  his  life,  at  times. 

But  I  waited  until  the  party,  ten  or  fifteen  horsemen, 
came  within  hailing  distance,  and  then  cried  out : 
"Who  comes  there?" 
"The  grand  rounds." 

This  answer  almost  took  me  off  my  feet.  In  the  first 
place  it  was  rather  an  unusual  thing  for  the  grand 
rounds  to  be  mounted,  and  then  I  had  become  so  worked 
up  on  the  subject  of  guerrillas  that  such  a  thing  as 
grand  rounds  had  entirely  slipped  from  my  mind. 

The  unexpectedness  of  the  reply  to  my  challenge,  as 
well  as  the  sudden  relief  from  the  tension  when  I  found 
that  it  was  friends  and  not  enemies  that  were  confront- 
ing me,  as  I  said  before,  almost  threw  me  off  my  feet 
with  astonishment.  I  imagined  that  my  voice  was  a 
litth  shaky  when  I  gave  the  next  salutation : 

"Officer  of  the  grand  rounds,  dismount,  and  give  the 
countersign." 

It  was  the  rule,  at  that  time  at  least,  when  the  grand 
rounds  came  on  horseback,  for  the  officer  in  charge  or 
whoever  else  was  delegated  to  "take  up  the  password  " 
to  approach  the  picket  on  foot.  Otherwise  it  would 
give  the  person  approaching  the  picket  an  undue  advan- 
tage had  he  been  other  than  friendly. 

The  officer  dismounted,  shambled  through  the  snow, 
and  said,  "Trenton"  over  my  musket  at  a  half-charge 
bayonet,  and  I  continued  with  the  usual  permission  for 
the  remainder  of  the  grand  rounds  to  approach. 


282  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

"Everything  quiet  out  here?"  asked  the  officer  of  the 
grand  rounds. 

"Everything  quiet,  sir,"  I  answered.  "I  haven't 
seen  or  heard  of  anything  unusual  whatever." 

"All  right,  then;  but  keep  a  close  lookout,  for  there 
are  unquestionably  guerrillas  about.  There  have  been 
some  suspicious  movements  in  front  of  one  of  the  posts 
further  down.     You  can't  be  too  careful,  my  man." 

"All  right,  sir,"  I  replied  bravely;  "I'll  keep  a  close 
look  out  for  them.     I'm  not  afraid !" 

I  am  rather  inclined  to  think  that  I  lied  a  little  when 
I  said  that. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  283 


CHAPTER  LII. 

CHRISTMAS     EVE. 

Despite  the  repeated  warnings  of  the  officers,  we 
saw  nothing  in  the  shape  of  guerrillas  or  anything  else 
unusual  that  night.  It  was  more  than  ordinarily  quiet. 
Shortly  after  the  departure  of  the  grand  rounds  it  began 
to  snow  hard  again,  and  it  was  so  supernaturally  still 
and  quiet  that  I  almost  imagined  that  I  felt  the  flakes 
strike  as  they  fell.  The  rustle  of  a  twig  breaking  from 
a  tree  with  the  weight  of  the  accumulating  snow  upon 
it  could  be  heard  some  distance,  so  still  was  the  air. 

It  would  have  been  a  bad  night  for  an  attack  of 
guerrillas  under  such  circumstances,  although  that  did 
not  strike  me  at  the  time. 

My  feet  were  becoming  painfully  cold  and  I  was  get- 
ting chilled  through  and  generally  disgusted  when  the 
approach  of  the  third  relief  gave  me  the  welcome  signal 
that  my  turn  was  over  and  that  it  was  1  o'clock. 

The  picket  post  headquarters,  when  I  returned  to  it, 
did  not  present  a  very  inviting  appearance.  The  fire 
h  1 1  gone  down  till  it  was  little  more  than  a  pile  of 
smouldering  embers,  and  all  the  good  places  had  been 
pre-empted  by  others.  They  lay  in  a  circle  with  their 
feet  to  the  fire,  and  some  of  them  were  snoring  with  a 
noise  that  would  have  made  a  Silsby  steam  fire  engine 
envious. 

The  sleeping  men  stretched  around  the  fire  presented 
a  curious  aspect.  While  the  neat  from  the  fire  had 
melted  the  snow  from  their  feet  and  the  lower  part  of 
their  legs,  their  heads  and  shoulders  were  completely 
covered.  In  fact  they  looked  like  piles  of  snow,  with 
human  legs  sticking  out  of  the  sides. 

Then  I  noticed  for  the  first  time  another  curious  cir- 
cumstance, 


ZZl  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

Each  soldier  as  he  lay  down  to  sleep  had  pulled  the 
cape  of  his  blue  overcoat  over  his  head,  which  protected 
that  part  of  the  body  from  the  falling  snow.  When 
covered  it  resembled  a  small  snowdrift. 

But  right  in  the  middle  of  the  top  of  each  of  these 
miniature  mountains  there  was  a  small  round  hole 
which  gave  it  the  appearance  of  a  baby  volcano.  Had 
it  been  daylight  it  would  have  all  the  more  resembled  a 
volcano,  for  steam  would  have  been  seen  issuing  from 
the  "crater." 

"What  are  those  holes  for?"  I  asked  my  friend  of 
the  Third  Wisconsin,  who,  being  an  old  soldier,  was 
supposed  to  know  all  about  everything. 

"Those  are  breathing  holes, "  he  answered.  "They 
let  the  air  in." 

"But,"  I  asked,  "how  is  a  fellow  to  keep  those  holes 
open  after  he  is  asleep.  Won't  he  smother  if  somebody 
don't  attend  to  it?" 

My  companion  laughed  heartily  at  my  ignorance. 

"Why,  you  goose,"  said  he,  "those  holes  make 
themselves.  The  breath  coming  out  of  your  mouth 
keeps  them  open.  No  matter  how  fast  it  snows,  the 
warm  breath  melts  it  away  above  the  mouth  and  keeps 
the  air  hole  open." 

"Then  how  is  it  that  men  die  when  buried  under  the 
snow,  as  they  do  out  in  your  part  of  the  country,  as  I 
have  often  heard?"  I  asked. 

"Never  heard  of  anybody  smothering  to  death  under 
the  snow,"  was  the  reply.  "People  get  asleep  and 
freeze  to  death,  but  they  don't  ever  smother  for  want  of 
air.  There's  no  danger  of  freezing  to  death  here,  so 
long  as  your  feet  are  near  the  fire.  Besides,  it  isn't  cold 
enough  for  that.  Out  our  way,  where  we  have  it  below 
zero  half  the  time  through  the  winter  and  a  fellow  gets 
asleep  on  a  cold  night  he  never  wakes  up.  But  there 
isn't  any  such  danger  here,  I  guess. ' ' 

Still,  those  curious  little  air  holes  over  the  mouth  of 
each  sleeping  soldier  interested  me  very  much.  I  had 
never  heard  of  such  a  thing  before.  But  I  saw  it  sev- 
eral times  afterward.  I  cannot  say  that  I  saw  it  a  great 
many  times,  for  to  tell  the  truth  we  did  not  often  have 
snow  in  Virginia, 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  28o 

I  think  the  one  I  am  describing  was  about  the  deepest 
of  my  experience  there. 

I  warmed  my  feet  as  best  I  could  at  the  smouldering 
embers  of  the  fire  and  then  curled  myself  down  on  the 
snow-covered  ground  to  sleep,  covering  my  head  with 
the  cape  of  my  overcoat  as  I  saw  the  others  had  done. 

For  a  few  moments  I  was  very  cold  and  shivered  as 
if  I  had  a  chill.  But  before  long  I  grew  more  comfor- 
table and  in  a  little  while  became  deliciously  warm.  I 
could  feel  the  weight  of  the  snow  on  my  overcoat  cape 
over  my  head,  but  there  was  no  sonse  of  suffocation  or 
even  discomfort  for  the  want  of  air.  In  fact  I  was  soon 
so  comfortable  and  contented  that  I  fell  into  a  sound 
sleep  and  slept  on  until  aroused  by  the  unwelcome  cry : 

"Fall  in,  second  relief!" 

Could  it  be  possible  that  it  was  nearly  5  o'clock  in  the 
morning!  But  such  was  the  fact.  I  had  had  nearly 
four  hours'  good  sleep  and  must  once  again  go  out  and 
relieve  the  fellow  who  was  patrolling  the  post  I  had 
left  at  1  o'clock. 

"It  isn't  quite  5,"  said  the  sergeant;  "but'  I 
thought  as  how  you  might  want  to  make  a  can  of  coffee 
to  warm  you  up  before  you  went  out." 

Thoughtful,  considerate  sergeant!  I  don't  know 
that  I  was  ever  more  grateful  to  a  human  being.  Al- 
though warm  and  comfortable  while  lying  there  asleep, 
yet  1  was  shiveringly  cold  on  arising,  and  anybody 
knows  that  it  makes  a  fellow  cold  under  the  best  of 
circumstances  to  jump  out  of  bed  and  hasten  to  work 
without  anything  in  his  stomach. 

It  did  not  take  many  minutes  to  boil  my  tomato  can 
of  coffee  and  drink  it,  while  I  ate  a  hard-tack,  and  I 
was  in  first  class  condition  for  another  round  on  the 
lonesome  post. 

From  5  to  7  o'clock  in  the  morning  is  one  of  the  most 
dismal  turns  on  picket.  The  slow  process  of  night  turn- 
ing into  day  makes  it  appear  twice  as  long  as  any  other 
time  during  the  twenty-four  hours.  Then  a  fellow  is 
tired  and  sleepy,  and  there  is  a  nervous  strain  unknown 
to  any  other  time  of  the  day. 

Anybody  who  works  for  a  living  ten  hours  a  day,  dur- 
ing the  usual  laboring  hours,  knows  that  the  longest 


286  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

time  of  the  day  is  between  4  and  6  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon. So  it  is  with  the  last  two  reliefs  of  a  soldier  on 
picket. 

For  this  reason  these  hours  just  before  dawn  were  re- 
garded by  old  army  officers  as  the  most  dangerous,  for 
the  alert  enemy,  knowing  the  condition  ot  the  men  on 
picket,  frequently  adopted  those  times  for  raids  and  sur- 
prises. Many  a  battle  has  been  commenced  unex- 
pectedly just  before  daylight  and  with  disastrous  results 
to  the  army  attacked. 

But  nothing  occurred  to  disturb  the  monotony  of  those 
two  long  hours,  and  daylight  at  last  began  to  make  its 
appearance.  Better  yet,  the  rising  sun  commenced  to 
dissipate  the  snow  clouds  and  the  prospects  were  that 
we  would  have  a  clearer  and  milder  day. 

This  turned  out  to  be  the  case.  We  had  to  remain 
about  the  picket  headquarters  after  going  off  duty  at  7 
o'clock  till  9  o'clock,  when  the  new  picket  came  on. 
The  sun  came  out  bright  and  strong,  and  the  snow 
began  to  melt,  till  it  soon  became  a  disagreeable  mass 
of  slush. 

While  cooking  another  can  of  coffee  my  Massachu- 
setts friend  said  to  me : 

"You  didn't  have  much  of  a  chance  to  hang  up  your 
stocking  last  night,  did  you?" 

"Hang  up  my  stocking?"  I  answered,  wondering 
what  he  meant.  "I  should  think  not.  The  best  place 
for  a  fellow's  stockings  last  night  was  on  his  feet,  I 
think." 

"Why,  don't  you  know  what  night  it  was?"  asked 
my  Massachusetts  comrade. 

'"What  night?  Really  I  hadn't  thought.  To  tell  the 
truth  I  have  lost  the  hang  of  the  almanac. ' ' 

"It  was  Christmas  Eve,"  he  replied.  "To-day  is 
Christmas." 

Sure  enough.  It  was  Christmas.  And  last  night 
was  Christmas  Eve. 

What  a  Christmas  Eve ! 

Those  were  the  times  that  made  a  fellow  homesick. 
He  was  all  the  more  impressed  with  the  great  contrast 
between  "the  is  and  the  was." 

Christmas  Eve !    I  wondered  what  was  going  on  at 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  28? 

home.  The  hanging  of  stockings,  the  exchange  of  pres- 
ents, the  merry-making?  Were  all  these  things  going 
on  as  usual? 

Were  the  streets  filled  with  women  and  children 
carrying  mysterious  packages?  Wer»  the  men  sneak- 
ing home  with  the  ends  of  half -covered  sleds  and  hobby- 
horses and  little  express  wagons  sticking  out  from  the 
bundles  under  their  arms? 

In  fact,  was  the  world— the  gay,  happy  world,  going 
on  just  as  usual?  Were  people  laughing  and  singing, 
and  pianos  playing  Christmas  carols  as  of  yore? 

Were  the  girls ? 

The  girls ! 

What  in  the  world  did  a  girl  look  like,  anyhow? 
Was  there  such  a  thing?  Was  it  reality  or  a  dream 
that  I  once  danced  with  my  arm  around  a  pretty  Pater- 
son  girl  at  a  Christmas  Eve  hop? 

Confound  it !  Could  it  be  possible  that  this  was  the 
same  world  that  I  lived  in  last  Christmas,  one  short 
year  ago? 

Was  it  all  a  dream? 

Or  is  the  present  all  a  dream? 

Poor  boy !    Poor  soldier  boy ! 


288  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

A   MERRY   CHRISTMAS. 

Christmas,  1862.  The  snow  storm  had  cleared  off 
and  the  sun  came  out  strong  and  bright.  The  snow  was 
turned  into  slush  in  a  remarkably  short  time,  and  the 
slush  soon  turned  into  water.  The  water  mixed  with 
the  red  Virginia  clay,  and  the  result  was — mud ! 

And  such  mud ! 

In  a  previous  chapter  I  told  about  the  mud  at  Wolf 
Run  Shoals,  where  it  was  of  the  consistency  of  thin 
paste,  and  so  deep  that  it  came  up  to  the  bodies  of  the 
baggage  wagons  till  they  resembled  boats.  But  this 
mud  was  different. 

It  was  of  the  consistency  of  bread  dough  that  has  been 
rising  in  front  of  the  fire  all  night  and  is  ready  for 
kneading  in  the  morning.  It  was  tough,  sticky,  stringy. 
One  could  not  go  many  steps  before  his  shoes  were 
covered,  first  so  that  they  resembled  red  arctics,  and 
soon  they  bore  resemblance  to  pillows.  It  would  be  no 
exaggeration  to  say  that  the  clump  of  mud  stuck  fast  to 
every  soldier's  foot  was  as  big  as  a  real  pillow — of  the 
Pullman  car  size. 

This  sort  of  walking  we  had  that  Christmas  morning, 
even  through  the  company  streets  of  the  camp.  The 
men  moved  about  slowly  and  laboriously,  and  there  is 
no  slang  in  the  statement  that  at  every  step  he  got  his 
leg  pulled. 

Such  surroundings  and  the  fact  that  it  was  a  holiday, 
put  the  boys  in  anything  but  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind, 
but  their  attention  was  drawn  from  it  by  the  introduc- 
tion of  a  novelty.  This  was  something  new  in  the  line 
of  rations. 

When  the  order  came  to  "fall  in  for  rations,"  I  asked 
John  Butterworth,  my  pard,  to  go  and  draw  mine  with 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  289 

his,  as  I  was  tired  with  the  night's  picket  duty.     John 
came  back  presently  in  a  state  of  pleasant  excitement. 

"They've  given  us  something  new  this  time,  Joe," 
said  he. 

"What  is  it,  Jack?"  I  asked. 

"I  don't  exactly  know  what  it  is,"  he  replied;  "but 
I  think  they  called  it  dissected  vegetables." 

' '  D  issected  vegetables  ?' ' 

"Yes,  that's  what  they  called  it." 

"Let's  see  it." 

John  pulled  out  two  cakes  of  the  "dissected  vegeta- 
bles." They  were  supposed  to  be  three  days' rations 
each.  Each  cake  was  about  twice  the  size  of  a  stick  of 
patent  kindling  wood.  It  looked  like  a  mass  of  com- 
pressed sawdust  and  hops. 

"What  do  you  do  with  the  stuff?"  I  asked. 

"They  say  it  is  vegetables,"  replied  John.  "You 
put  it  in  the  kettle  or  tomato  can  with  a  piece  of  pork 
and  some  water,  boil  it  and  make  soup. ' ' 

"Sawdust  soup?"  I  asked. 

"Don't  know,"  answered  John.  "I  only  know  that's 
what  they  told  us  to  do  with  it." 

We  concluded  to  try  it  at  once.  We  put  one  of  the 
cakes  into  a  tomato  can,  together  with  a  little  piece  of 
pork,  and  filled  it  with  water  and  went  to  the  camp  fire. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  in  the  front  every  man  was 
his  own  cook.  It  is  only  when  in  a  camp  that  is  some- 
what permanent  that  he  had  a  regular  cook  for  the 
whole  company. 

Pretty  soon  the  water  began  to  boil  and  then  the  cake 
of  "dissected  vegetables"  began  to  swell.  It  swelled 
till  it  not  only  filled  the  can,  but  ran  over.  I  never  saw 
anything  swell  so  in  my  life.  It  was  worse  than  a 
piece  of  plug  tobacco.  It  was  a  common  expression  in 
the  army  when  borrowing  a  chew  of  tobacco  from  a 
comrade  to  hear  the  remark : 

"Don't  take  too  big  a  bite,  for  it  swells  in  your 
mouth." 

So  it  was  with  the  "dissected  vegetables."  They 
swell,  not  in  the  mouth,  but  in  the  kettle.  The  result 
of  it  was  that  about  half  was  wasted  before  the  stuff 
was  fairly  cooked  through. 


290  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

This  was  supposed  to  make  vegetable  soup.  The 
theory  was  that  the  vegetables  were  preserve  by  pres- 
sure, the  same  as  they  preserved  fodder  for  cattle  in 
kilos.  It  was  supposed  that  there  were  potatoes,  tur- 
nips, cabbage,  carrots,  onions  and  other  succulent  vege- 
tables in  the  mass,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  there  was 
nothing  but  cabbage  and  carrots,  and  a  very  poor  article 
at  that.  At  first  trial  the  soup  was  utterly  tasteless, 
but  with  the  addition  of  plenty  of  salt  and  pepper,  and 
a  little  more  grease  from  the  pork  it  became  somewhat 
more  palatable. 

It  was  the  only  thing  in  the  shape  of  vegetables  ever 
served  to  the  soldiers  in  the  army  and  insipid  as  it  was, 
it  was  a  pleasing  addition  to  our  bill  of  fare  The  first 
lot  we  received  was  tolerably  good,  but  the  quality  de 
generated  till  it  became  nothing  more  than  a  lot  of  rags, 
apparently,  and  the  time  soon  came  when  the  soldiers 
would  not  take  the  trouble  of  putting  it  in  their  haver- 
sacks. In  the  course  of  time  it  was  entirely  dropped 
from  the  list  of  rations. 

But  we  got  something  more  that  day.  In  addition  to 
the  usual  coffee  and  pork  and  beans  we  got  some  rice, 
and  this  was  most  acceptable.  Rice  boiled  with  pork 
really  makes  a  palatable  dish.  I  think  that  of  all  the 
things  served  to  the  soldiers  rice  and  beans  were  the 
most  acceptable,  next  of  course  to  the  indispensable 
pork  and  coffee. 

It  may  here  be  of  interest  to  the  reader  to  know  what 
allowance  of  food  was  made  for  the  soldiers  "according 
to  the  regulations."     I  will  give  it. 

Twelve  ounces  of  pork  or  bacon  or  twenty  ounces  of 
salt  or  fresh  beef ;  twenty -two  ounces  of  soft  bread  or 
flour,  or  one  pound  of  hard -tack;  (twenty  ounces  otcorn 
meal  was  sometimes  given  in  lieu  of  either  of  these). 
The  above  was  for  each  man.  Then,  for  every  one 
hundred  men,  fifteen  pounds  of  beans  or  peas,  ten 
pounds  of  rice  or  hominy,  eight  pounds  of  roasted  coffee 
or  twenty-four  ounces  of  tea,  fifteen  pounds  of  sugar, 
four  quarts  of  vinegar,  twenty  ounces  of  candles,  four 
pounds  of  soap,  four  pounds  of  salt,  four  ounces  of 
pepper,  thirty  pounds  of  potatoes  and  one  quart  of 
molasses. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  291 

The  potatoes  did  not  materialize.  The  only  tubers, 
that  we  got  were  procured  by  foraging.  I  remember 
seeing  molasses  two  or  three  times.  Tea  wasn't  a  pop- 
ular beverage,  and  the  soldier  never  took  it  unless  he 
could  not  get  his  beloved  coffee.  One  of  the  items  on 
the  allowance  was  never  seen — fresh  bread. 

It  will  be  seen  that  there  was  plenty  of  the  substan- 
tials  of  life  to  keep  body  and  soul  together  provided  we 
got  them  all.  But  there  was  always  something  short. 
There  was  always  something  "out."  We  simply  had 
to  take  what  we  could  get  or  do  without.  Of  course 
we  grumbled. 

Kicking  was  one  of  the  inestimable  privileges  of  a 
soldier  that  was  never  interfered  v/ith. 

Everything  was  furnished  the  army  by  contract. 
And  every  government  contractor  got  rich.  They  took 
the  contracts  at  ridiculously  low  prices  and  then  got 
square  by  swindling  the  soldiers.  The  food  was  fre- 
quently of  inferior  quality,  while  the  shoddy  clothing 
that  was  furnished  was  at  times  so  bad  that  it  would 
almost  fall  apart  of  its  own  weight.  To  the  soldier, 
who  judged  the  thing  simply  by  experience  and  obser- 
vation, the  terms  "contractor"  and  "robber"  were  syn- 
onymous. 

Then  another  discomfort  was  discovered  on  that  day 
— that  merry  Christmas  Day ! 

The  place  where  we  were  stopping  had  been  used  as 
a  camp  ground  before,  and  there  was  the  usual  result. 
It  was  not  long  before  the  pesky  pendicuhis  invesii- 
menti  began  to  show  himself  in  great  numbers. 

"Why  isn't  this  a  good  time  to  get  rid  of  these  gray- 
backs  for  awhile?"   asked  John  Butterworth. 

"How' 11  we  do  it,  Jack?"  I  asked. 

"I  heard  Jake  Engle  say  he  wasn't  going  to  use  the 
kettles  to-day,"  was  the  reply.  "We  can  get  them  and 
give  our  shirts  a  good  boiling." 

"Agreed,"  said  I,  "although  it  isn't  a  very  pleasant 
day  for  such  work." 

"That's  so,  but  we  must  do  it  when  we  can  get  the 
kettles.     Jake  may  be  making  bean  soup  to-morrow." 

The  indiscriminate  use  of  the  camp  kettles  for  boiling 
lousy  shirts  and  making  bean  soup  may  probably  strike 


293  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

the  reader  as  not  being  quite  as  nice  as  it  might  be. 
But  then  these  are  facts  as  every  soldier  can  testify. 
"Everything  went"  in  the  army.  We  had  to  make 
the  best  of  such  things  as  were  at  our  command. 

So  we  got  the  kettle  and  made  our  way  down  to  the 
brook.  It  was  the  same  brook  that  we  got  our  water 
from  for  culinary  purposes;  but  what  of  that?  I  must 
admit,  however,  that  this  made  me  a  little  "feasty." 
The  brook  was  lined  I  don't  know  how  far  up  with 
other  soldiers  performing  both  personal  ablutions  and 
engaged  in  laundry  work,  and  the  surface  of  the  little 
stream  was  covered  with  soap  suds  that  floated  by  us. 

We  built  a  fire,  filled  the  kettle  with  water  and  before 
long  the  water  was  boiling. 

Then  we  pulled  off  our  coats,  cardigan  jackets  and 
ehirts. 

I  can  tell  you  that  it  isn't  pleasant  to  stand  outdoors 
in  one's  bare  pelt  in  the  winter  time,  even  though  it  be 
in  Virginia.  We  quickly  put  on  the  cardigan  jackets 
and  coats,  minus  a  shirt,  but  still  shivered  with  the 
cold. 

Why  didn't  the  men  have  two  shirts?  I  hear  the 
reader  ask. 

What  was  the  use  of  two  shirts  when  one  would  do? 
Furthermore  every  ounce  counted  on  the  march  and 
that  was  of  more  importance  than  the  temporary  dis- 
comfort of  going  without  while  washing  the  one  shirt. 

"Say,  Joe,"  said  Butterworth  sarcastically,  as  he 
gave  the  boiling  shirts  a  poke  with  a  stick  he  had  picked 
up  somewhere,  "this  is  a  merry  Christmas,  isn't  it?" 

"A  Merry  Christmas"  it  was  indeed! 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  293 


CHAPTER  LV. 

OUR   SHIRTS   "  SWIPED." 

Boiling  shirts  was  one  thing.  Drying  them  was 
another.  The  brook  where  we  were  engaged  in  the 
laundry  work  ran  through  a  woods,  in  the  shade.  Al- 
though the  sun  was  melting  the  snow  in  the  clearing,  it 
seemed  to  be  about  at  the  freezing  point  there  in  the 
woods.  This  fact  we  didn't  notice  as  'we  carefully 
spread  the  wet  garments  over  some  bushes  to  dry. 

We  went  out  into  the  sunshine  where  it  was  a  little 
warmer,  and  indulged  in  a  game  of  tag  and  a  running 
race  to  keep  from  being  chilled.  When  we  thought  the 
shirts  might  be  a  little  dry  we  went  for  an  examination. 

Instead  of  being  dry  they  were  frozen  stiff.  When 
we  bent  them  they  cracked  like  a  printing  office  towel 
that  hasn't  been  washed  in  six  months. 

"I  think  we  area  pair  of  fools,"  said  Butter  worth. 
"We  might  ha'  known  that  the  shirts  wouldn't  have 
dried  there  in  the  shade  on  this  cold  day." 

"Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  Jack,"  said  I,  "I  have  not 
had  much  experience  washing  shirts  and  I  didn't  know 
anything  about  it.  But  I  guess  it  will  be  all  right  if 
we  hang  them  out  in  the  sun." 

So  we  hung  the  shirts  in  the  sun,  and  as  it  was  get- 
ting toward  noon  we  thought  we  would  kill  two  birds 
with  one  stone  and  keep  comfortable  around  the  camp 
fire  while  cooking  some  coffee.     That  warmed  us  up. 

"The  shirts  must  be  pretty  dry  by  this  time,"  said 
John.     "I  will  go  and  see." 

Butterworth  went  to  look  after  the  laundry  while  I 
put  away  the  coffee  pots.  In  a  few  moments  my  pard 
returned  with  the  most  lugubrious  expression  on  his 
face  that  I  ever  saw. 


294  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

"What's  the  matter,  Jack?"  I  asked.  "Aren't  the 
shirts  dry  yet?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  with  a  quizzical  look. 

"Don't  know?    What's  the  matter  now?" 

"Well,  the  fact  is,  Joe,  somebody  has  stolen  those 
shirts!" 

"Stolen  the  shirts?" 

"Yes,  they're  gone." 

It  was  true.  Somebody  had  "swiped"  the  shirts. 
Some  bright  comrade  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it 
was  easier  to  get  a  couple  of  clean  shirts  that  way  than 
it  was  to  wash  them.  There  was  no  use  trying  to  dis- 
cover the  thief  in  such  a  case  as  this.  The  different 
things  furnished  to  the  army  were  as  alike  as  peas,  and 
could  not  be  identified.  Some  of  the  boys  put  private 
marks  on  their  articles,  but  we  had  never  bothered  with 
that. 

All  through  the  army  there  were  a  thievish  lot  of  fel- 
lows in  every  regiment  who  seemed  to  delight  in  taking 
other's  property.  I  don't  think  it  was  considered  a  sin. 
It  was  a  perfectly  natural  operation,  and  legitimately 
within  the  ordinary  degree  of  normal  turpitude  of  a  cer- 
tain class.  Blankets,  muskets,  canteens,  everything, 
were  indiscriminately  "swiped." 

Of  course  no  one  suspected  a  member  of  his  own  com- 
pany !  It  was  always  laid  to  some  wicked  fellow  who 
had  sneaked  into  camp  from  one  of  the  adjoining  com- 
panies. In  such,  cases,  frequently,  if  the  loser  was  a 
big  fellow  and  a  bully,  he  would  coolly  go  to  some 
smaller  soldier  and  calmly  demand  his  blanket  or  what- 
ever it  might  be,  claiming  it  as  his  own  and  charging 
the  little  fellow  with  having  stolen  it!  A  pretended 
private  mark,  some  peculiarity  suddenly  observed  at 
the  moment,  would  be  utilized  to  back  up  the  claim  of 
ownership. 

That  reminds  me  of  a  story  which  may  be  old  to 
many  of  my  readers,  but  which  will  serve  to  illustrate 
the  fact  stated. 

A  soldier  went  to  another  who  was  lying  on  the 
ground  covered  with  his  blanket.  The  first  man  coolly 
pulled  off  the  blanket  and  proceeded  to  walk  off  with  it. 

"Here,  here,  what  are  you  doing  there?"  asked  the 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  295 

man  who  owned  the  blanket.     "What  are  you  taking 
my  blanket  away  for?" 

"That's  my  blanket,  you  spalpeen,  and  I  have  a 
right  to  take  it." 

"Your  blanket!     How  do  you  make  that  out?" 

"Sure'n  there's  my  name  on  it." 

"Where?*' 

"There.     Don't  you  see  the  letters,  'U.  S.'  on  it." 

"What's  that  to  do  with  it?     What's  your  name?" 

'  Tat  Murphy,  There's  the  U.  for  Patrick  and  the  S. 
for  Murphy— Patrick  Murphy.  That's  my  blanket  and 
ye  can't  deny  it." 

History  doesn't  tell  us  the  termination  of  this  story, 
but  rt  is  only  an  exaggerated  illustration  of  the  cheeky 
claims  for  ownership  that  were  sometimes  made  in  the 
army. 

But  there  we  were  shivering  in  the  cold  for  the  want 
of  a  shirt.  What  should  we  do?  We  consulted  Heber 
Wells. 

"The  quartermaster  has  just  received  a  lot  of  clothing 
and  perhaps  he  has  some  shirts,"  said  Heber.  "I  will 
give  you  a  requisition." 

Heber  made  out  the  requisition  for  "two  shirts"  on 
the  blanks  provided  for  that  purpose  and  we  went  to  the 
quartermaster's  and  after  the  usual  delay  and  red  tape 
managed  to  procure  the  desired  garments,  which  we 
put  on  then  and  there.  They  were  neither  of  the  right 
size,  but  we  had  learned  not  to  mind  a  little  thing  like 
that. 

"Joe,"  said  Butter  worth,  "I  have  an  idea." 

"If  you  have,  Jack,"  I  replied,  banteringly,  "keep 
hold  of  it  for  fear  it  will  get  away  from  you.'' 

"No,  but  it's  a  good  idea.  What's  the  use  of  bother- 
ing with  washing  our  shirts  when  we  can  draw  new 
ones?" 

"True  enough,"  I  replied.  "That  is  a  good  idea.  I 
don't  thmk  I  will  do  any  more  washing." 

And  I  think  that  this  was  the  usual  practice  with  old 
soldiers,  whenever  it  was  possible.  The  government 
allowed  a  certain  amount  of  clothing,  and  so  long  as 
the  account  was  not  overdrawn  a  soldier  could  always 
obtain  a  supply.     Of  course  it  was  not  always  possible, 


296  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

for  the  quartermaster  was  one  of  those  fellows  who  was 
not  with  the  camp  when  there  were  signs  of  a  conflict; 
but  the  allowance  was  liberal,  and  the  practice  of  draw- 
ing new  underclothing  became  more  general  with  the 
old  soldiers  than  washing  out  the  old  ones. 

It  was  on  the  next  day  after  this,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  that  General  Williams  woke  up  and  decided 
that  the  army  under  his  command  had  not  had  quite 
enough  work  to  do,  and  that  it  would  also  add  to  his 
glory  and  renown  to  have  a  division  review. 

Now  a  review  or  inspection  was  always  obnoxious 
under  the  most  favorable  circumstances,  but  at  that  par- 
ticular time,  with  the  ground  so  thickly  covered  with 
mud,  we  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  officers  all  had 
gone  mad.  "Kicking"  doesn't  fairly  express  the  con- 
duct of  the  boys  on  that  occasion. 

But  what  was  the  use  of  kicking?  The  generals  and 
others  gave  the  orders  and  all  that  we  had  to  do  was  to 
obey  them.  We  wallowed  through  the  mud  and  went 
through  the  various  evolutions  connected  with  a  review 
as  well  as  we  could,  and  it  must  have  been  pretty  good 
after  all,  for  we  were  subsequently  complimented  by 
"general  orders." 

"Something  on  hand,  pard,"  said  my  friend  of  the 
Third  Wisconsin,  who  had  got  in  the  habit  of  making 
friendly  visits.  "As  I  told  you  often  before,  there's 
always  something  coming  when  we  have  these  reviews 
and  inspections.     We  won't  stay  here  long." 

It  really  did  seem  so,  and  I  remembered  these  words 
when  the  very  next  day  we  were  ordered  to  fall  in  for  a 
march. 

That  was  the  most  ridiculous  day's  march  we  ever 
had.  We  had  only  fairly  got  started,  and  in  fact  had 
not  gone  more  than  a  mile,  when  we  were  formed  into 
companies,  ordered  to  stack  arms  and  go  into  camp 
again. 

What  could  this  mean?  We  soon  found  out  that  the 
doctor  had  pronounced  the  water  in  the  other  camp  im- 
pure and  had  advised  a  change.  I  guess  the  doctor 
must  have  examined  the  brook  immediately  after  we 
had  washed  our  shirts.  If  so,  no  wonder  he  found  it 
impure! 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  297 

But  the  change  was  a  good  one.  The  brook  along- 
side of  which  we  camped  this  time  was  as  clear  and 
pure  as  crystal — although  there  was  no  telling  how  long 
it  would  remain  so.  The  ground  was  higher  and  dryer, 
the  wood  was  plentiful,  and  altogether  it  was  an  im- 
provement that  pleased  us  much.  We  were  also  de- 
lighted to  hear  that  we  would  likely  remain  there  for 
some  time. 

Early  next  morning,  however,  we  were  hustled  out 
and  ordered  to  put  all  our  knapsacks  in  a  big  pile,  with 
a  layer  of  light  wood  between  them,  so  that  the  whole 
lot  could  be  set  afire  and  burned  up  at  a  moment's 
notice  i 

What  under  the  sun  did  this  mean? 

Had  the  officers  all  gone  crazy? 


298  TEE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

KEDDY  AND  ICK  AGAIN. 

To  us  private  soldiers  the  scene  in  which  we  had  just 
participated  was  incomprehensible.  Why  the  officers 
piled  our  knapsacks  in  a  great  heap,  mixed  with  light 
wood  and  small  branches,  ready  to  form  a  gigantic  fire, 
was  something  that  we  could  not  understand. 

Equally  incomprehensible  to  us  was  the  fact  that  Ave 
were  ordered  to  fall  in  for  a  march  in  "light  marching 
order." 

Here  it  was,  as  one  might  say,  in  dead  of  winter,  and 
wo  were  ordered  off  with  nothing  but  our  overcoats  and 
blankets,  in  addition  to  our  accouterments,  at  a  time 
when  we  needed  every  article  that  we  could  possible 
carry  to  make  ourselves  comfortable. 

It  was  a  hard  march  that  the  officers  gave  us  that 
day.  We  hurried  along  the  muddy  roads,  and  across 
lots  through  muddy  fields,  hither  and  thither,  till  tired 
out  and  completely  disgusted,  we  once  more  came  to  a 
creek,  that  we  immediately  recognized  as  that  forlorn 
place,  Wolf  Run  Shoals. 

Here  we  halted  for  the  first  time,  and  despite  the  con- 
dition of  the  ground,  we  were  so  tired  that  we  lay  right 
down  in  the  mud  to  get  some  rest,  being  absolutely  too 
much  played  out  to  cook  the  coffee  that  we  were  all  in 
need  of. 

When  we  halted  we  imagined  of  course  that  we  were 
going  into  camp  then  and  there,  and  there  were  loud 
and  deep  imprecations  over  the  orders  that  had  deprived 
us  of  our  knapsacks,  and  other  things  so  much  needed 
at  that  time  of  the  year. 

*'Dat  vas  ein  shames,  don'd  it,"  said  John  Ick  lugu- 
briously.    "Vat  you  tinks,  Reddy?" 

"Be  jabers  and  Oi  think  they  are  a  set  of  lu-nat- 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  299 

ticks,"  replied  Redely.  "Do  they  suppose  we're  a  lot  of 
Eskimoxis  to  bo  able  to  slape  in  the  snow  and  ate  taller 
candles?  A  grease-eatin'  Dutchman  like  ye,  shouldn't 
moind,  but  for  respectable  men  the  loikes  o'  me,  be 
jabers,  it  isn't  roight,  that's  phwat  it  isn't." 

"Who  vas  dot  grease-eatin'  Dutchman,  you  ninper- 
poop,"  replied  Ick,  somewhat  angrily;  "don'd  you  call 
me  by  some  names  like  dot,  Redely." 

"That's  phwat  ye  are,"  replied  Reddy.  "Don't  Oi 
know?  You  Dutchmen  do  nothing  but  ate  sourkrout 
and  blood  puddin',  and  fat  sausages  and  duck  livers 
win  at  yer  home,  and  that's  next  door  to  atin'  taller 
candles,  don'd  it?" 

"Der  Deutschmens  lives  better  as  by  the  Irishes, 
Reddy,  und  don'd  you  forgot  dot.  You  Irishes  eats 
gooses,  und  dot's  worser  by  taller  candles,  don'd  it?" 

"Oi  wish  Oi  had  a  good  fat  goose  now,"  said  Reddy, 
smacking  his  lips. 

"Vas  you  hungry,  alretty,  Reddy?" 

"Oi  am  that.  Oi  could  ate  a  whole  soide  o'  sole 
lither." 

"I  vas  so  hungry  mine  own  selluf,  Reddy.  You  gets 
some  woods  und  I  vill  der  coffee  cooken." 

"No,  ye  get  the  wood,  and  Oi'll  cook  the  coffee." 

•'Nein,  I  will  dot  coffee  cooken.  Dot  vas  your  turns 
to  get  some  woods." 

"Phwat  d'ye  mean,  ye  spalpeen?  I  got  the  last 
wood. ' ' 

"No,  you  don'd,  Reddy.  It  vas  me  by  dot  last  woods 
begotten." 

"John,  ye  are  the  worm st  loyer  Oi  iver  saw.  You 
know  that's  your  turn  to  get  the  wood." 

"Don'd  you  calls  my  dot  name  some  more,  Reddy, 
oder  I'll  smash  your  face  all  over  your  nose." 

"Let's  see  you  do  that,  ye  spalpeen,"  said  Reddy, 
getting  angry  and  jumping  to  his  feet.  "Oi  have  had 
enough  o'  this  palaver  from  the  loikes  o'  ye." 

Ick  thought  Reddy  meant  business,  and  squared  him- 
self for  the  encounter.  Reddy  thought  that  Ick  was 
going  to  carry  out  his  threat  to  "smash  his  face  all  over 
his  nose." 

The  discomforts  of  the  situation  and  the  fatigue  from 


300  THE  YOUNG    YOLUNTEElt. 

that  day's  march  through  the  sticky  mud  had  put 
everybody  in  a  bad  humor.  Reddy  Mahar  and  John 
Ick,  whose  respective  characteristics  were  more  animal 
than  intellectual,  had  created  a  safety  valve  for  their 
outraged  feelings.  They  were  both  in  a  humor  to  fight. 
They  would  have  fought  anybody.  It  made  no  differ- 
ence whom.  But  the  conflict  had  naturally  arisen  be- 
tween these  two  strange  companions. 

They  both  struck  out  simultaneously.  I  never  saw  a 
prettier  rough-and-tumble.  The  first  blow  given  by  Ick 
looked  as  if  he  really  would  carry  out  his  face  smash- 
ing threat.  He  landed  a  right  bander  square  on 
Reddy's  proboscis,  which  set  the  claret  flowing.  Reddy 
retaliated  with  a  blow  that  would  have  been  declared 
foul  in  the  prize  ring  because  of  its  being  below  the  belt. 
To  this  day  I  can  hear  the  grunt  that  came  out  of  Ick's 
body  involuntarily. 

Then  they  withdrew  a  few  steps  from  each  other,  and 
after  looking  into  each  other's  eyes  for  a  moment  like 
wild  beasts  at  bay,  they  once  more  came  together  with 
a  clash  and  crash. 

The  result  of  this  collision  simply  involved  a  problem 
in  momentum.  Ick  was  the  heavier  of  the  two,  and  to 
use  a  slang  phrase,  he  walked  right  over  Mahar.  The 
latter  went  down,  with  Ick  on  top  of  him. 

Reddy  was  the  slimmer  of  the  two  and  more  supple  in 
his  movements.  Ick  was  a  big,  clumsy  fellow,  and  al- 
though on  top,  the  under  dog  in  this  fight  had  decidedly 
the  best  of  it.  They  punched  and  scratched,  gouged 
and  bit,  rolling  first  one  way  and  the  other,  through  the 
thick  mud  on  the  ground,  till  they  were  both  besmeared 
from  head  to  foot. 

I  guess  the  fight  lasted  fifteen  minutes.  The  officers 
of  the  company,  with  the  others,  were  holding  a  con- 
sultation at  regimental  headquarters,  so  that  there  was 
no  interference  from  that  score.  The  privates  and  non- 
commissioned officers  had  learned  never  to  interfere 
with  these  periodical  conflicts  between  Reddy  Mahar 
and  John  Ick,  for  we  all  knew  that  they  would  again  be 
the  varmest  of  friends  when  it  was  over. 

Besides,  it  was  rather  a  diversion  to  the  rest  of  us. 
It  was  a  sort  of  relief  to  our  feelings.    We  all  felt  in  the 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  301 

humor  to  fight  something  or  somebody.  Even  I,  who 
had  never  fought  anything  in  my  life,  felt  as  if  I  could 
whip  anything  that  came  along.  There  is  a  certain 
time  when  man's  endurance  has  been  about  exhausted 
that  this  feeling  is  natural  and  involuntary. 

Exactly  how  the  fight  ended  I  can't  tell.  I  remember 
that  both  the  belligerents  got  up  simultaneously,  wiped 
the  blood  and  mud  out  of  their  eyes  with  their  coat 
sleeves,  and  then  Ick  said : 

"I  told  you  vat  we  does,  Reddy;  we'll  both  go  after 
some  wood  and  then  both  dot  coffee  cooken,  don'd  it?" 

"Thin  why  didn't  ye  say  that  before,  ye  spalpeen, 
and  act  like  a  gintlemen?"  replied  Reddy. 

The  two  dromios  thereupon  shook  hands  in  the  most 
cordial  manner  imaginable,  and  they  were  friends  once 
more.  The  comical  termination  of  the  fight,  although 
it  was  the  way  all  their  fights  terminated,  set  us  all  to 
laughing  for  the  first  time  that  day,  and  I  must  confess 
that  it  put  us  in  better  humor. 

The  rest  of  us  had  been  aroused  from  the  depression 
we  had  fallen  into,  and  by  mutual  consent  we  concluded 
to  follow  their  example,  get  some  wood  and  cook  some 
coffee,  for  we  were  all  in  need  of  it. 

But  we  had  wasted  our  valuable  time.  We  had  been 
watching  a  pugilistic  encounter  instead  of  attending  to 
very  necessary  culinary  duties.  It  was  too  late  now. 
The  officers  just  at  that  moment  returned  to  the  com- 
pany and  gave  the  order  to  "fall  in." 

There  was  more  kicking,  of  course,  but  it  did  not 
amount  to  anything.  All  that  we  had  to  do  was  to  obey 
orders.  The  duty  of  a  soldier  is  to  "say  nothing  and 
saw  wood." 

They  say  that  the  work  that  drives  convicts  to  insanity 
quicker  than  anything  else  is  the  apparently  nonsen- 
sical labor  of  carrying  a  pile  of  stone  one  by  one  from 
one  end  of  the  prison  yard  to  the  other,  and  when  that 
is  done,  carrying  them  back  again  one  by  one.  This  is 
kept  up  incessantly  day  after  day,  and  the  monotonous 
labor  eventually  drives  the  unhappy  victim  to  the 
lunatic  asylum. 

It  was  for  a  somewhat  similar  reason  that  the  soldiers 
were  frequently  driven  to  the  verge  of  insanity.     There 


302  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

seemed  to  be  no  end  to  the  practice  of  marching  the 
troops  back  and  forth,  hither  and  thither,  without  any- 
apparent  cause  or  reason.  The  object  of  all  this  prob- 
ably was  known  to  the  officers,  but  the  privates  were 
kept  in  ignorance.  I  often  thought  that  the  enlisted 
men  would  have  a  good  deal  less  mental  worriment  and 
fatigue  if  they  had  some  of  these  things  explained  to 
them.  But  that  wouldn't  be  "according  to  the  regula- 
tions. ' ' 

Imagine  our  disgust,  therefore,  to  be  marched  back 
right  over  the  ground  we  had  taken  in  the  fore  part  of 
the  day.  We  followed  the  same  course  so  accurately 
that  we  almost  stepped  into  the  same  tracks  that  we  had 
made  in  the  forenoon. 

We  reached  the  old  camping  grounds  toward  night, 
tired  out,  hungry,  discouraged  and  utterly  disgusted. 

Some  such  experience  as  this  must  have  inspired  the 
author  of  the  old  Mother  Goose  story  about  the  famous 
king  who,  with  his  forty  thousand  men,  marched  them 
up  the  hill  and  then  marched  them  down  again. 


TEE  YOUW&    VOLUNTEER.  303 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

THE   PAYMASTER. 

There  lay  our  kDapsacks  and  other  things  in  the 
great  pile,  with  the  light  wood  mixed  with  them,  ready- 
to  set  fire.  They  hadn't  been  burned  up  after  all.  This 
made  it  look  more  mysterious  than  before. 

They  had  been  left  in  charge  of  a  detail  of  men  under 
command  of  Major  Chadwick.  He  had  taken  good 
care  of  them.     No  one  had  stolen  any  of  the  knapsacks. 

It  seems  that  the  movement  that  we  had  made  that 
day  is  what  they  called  a  "reconnaissance."  It  was  re- 
ported that  there  were  some  rebels  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Wolf  Run  Shoals,  and  we  had  gone  to  see  if  it  was 
so.  Had  there  been  any  we  would  naturally  have  got 
into  a  fight.  This  going  out  of  the  way  to  get  into  a 
muss  was  one  of  the  things  that  never  met  my  approval. 
Why  not  leave  well  enough  alone? 

But  we  met  no  enemy  at  Wolf  Run  Shoals,  for  the 
reason  that  there  was  no  enemy  there,  and  we  conse- 
quently all  came  back  on  foot  instead  of  on  stretchers 
or  in  ambulances. 

It  also  seems  that  the  officers  feared  a  raid  by  the 
rebel  guerrillas  while  we  were  on  the  reconnaissance,  and 
so  the  knapsacks  had  been  arranged  in  a  pile  ready  to 
set  fire  and  destroy  on  the  first  appearance  of  the  enem}T. 
Rather  destroy  government  property  at  any  time  than 
permit  it  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  That  is 
war! 

When  the  ranks  were  broken  the  men  were  directed 
to  find  thoir  own  knapsacks. 

Well !     Here  was  a  job ! 

There  were  six  or  seven  hundred  knapsacks  in  that 
pile,  and  they  wore  as  much  alike  as  so  many  peas  in  a 


304  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

pod.     Not  half  a  dozen  in  the  entire  lot  had  any  partic- 
ular mark  to  identify  them. 

There  had  been  no  arrangement  or  system  in  piling 
them  up.  They  were  thrown  in  the  pile  promiscu- 
ously, indiscriminately.  For  each  man  to  pick  out  his 
own  was  consequently  a  tedious  task.  Nearly  every 
one  had  to  be  opened  to  see  what  was  inside,  so  that  it 
might  be  recognized  by  the  owner.  That  took  a  good 
deal  of  time.  It  was  late  in  the  night  before  they  were 
all  claimed,  and  even  as  it  was,  some  mistakes  had  to 
be  rectified  the  next  morning. 

Butterworth  knew  my  knapsack,  and  while  he  was 
looking  for  his  and  mine,  I  cooked  some  coffee,  so  that 
we  did  not  crawl  under  our  blankets  hungry.  But  many 
another  soldier  did.  I  have  heard  kicking  many  a  time 
on  the  part  cf  the  Thirteenth  Regiment,  but  I  cannot 
recall  any  occasion  when  the  kicking  equalled  that 
which  was  indulged  in  that  night. 

We  remained  in  camp  at  this  place  about  ten  days. 
We  had  become  convinced  that  we  would  make  it  our 
winter  quarters,  and  had  spent  some  time  and  gone  to 
no  little  trouble  in  fitting  up  log  houses,  "with  all 
modern  improvements."  But  alas!  there's  no  rest  for 
the  wicked — nor  for  the  soldier. 

On  the  4th  of  January  we  were  once  more  ordered  to 
break  camp,  and  once  more  started  on  the  march.  It 
was  not  in  light  marching  order  this  time,  however. 
We  carried  our  knapsacks  and  everything  we  could 
pack  in  them. 

Once  more  we  went  over  that  too  familiar  road  toward 
Wolf  Run  Shoals.  It  was  not  so  bad  this  time,  how- 
ever, for  the  mud  had  either  dried  away  or  the  ground 
was  frozen,  I've  forgotten  which.  Anyhow,  the  walk- 
ing was  not  nearly  as  bad  as  it  was  on  the  previous 
occasion,  nor  did  we  seem  to  be  in  a  like  feverish  haste. 

We  were  halted  and  directed  to  form  camp  almost  on 
the  same  identical  ground  where  John  Butterworth  and 
I  had  got  such  a  soaking  that  night  when  the  rain 
rushed  through  our  "pup"  tents,  going  into  the  backs 
of  our  necks  and  coming  out  at  the  bottom  of  our  trous- 
ers' legs. 
•    It  was  a  good  place  for  a  camp,    T&ere  was  plenty  of 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  305 

timber  to  cut  down  and  make  into  log  houses,  and  there 
was  an  ample  supply  of  good  water.  We  were  more 
than  pleased  to  hear  that  we  had  at  last  reached  our 
"winter  quarters,"  and  that  we  might  proceed  to  make 
ourselves  comfortable  with  some  degree  of  certainty  of 
remaining  there  for  a  while. 

Butterworth  and  I  spent  a  busy  day  making  another 
log  house,  after  the  style  of  architecture  described  in  a 
previous  chapter.  It  was  the  most  cozy  place  we  had 
yet  had,  for  experience  had  taught  us  how  to  make 
things  comfortable  with  the  limited  means  at  our  dis- 
posal. 

It  was  a  wonderful  thing  how  quickly  the  dense 
woods  disappeared.  In  twenty -four  hours  the  ground 
around  the  camp,  for  a  space  covering  several  acres, 
was  entirely  cleared,  and  where  there  had  stood  large 
trees  there  was  nothing  left  but  a  lot  of  stumps.  These 
stumps  came  in  useful  for  a  number  of  purposes. 

I  was  detailed  a  day  or  so  afterward  with  some  other 
fellows  to  smooth  off  the  top  of  a  big  stump  in  front  of 
Colonel  Carman's  tent.  We  did  not  know  what  it  was 
for,  the  only  instructions  we  received  being  "to  make  it 
smooth  enough  to  write  upon."  Inasmuch  as  the  only 
tools  we  had  for  this  purpose  were  some  axes  (and  not 
over  sharp  at  that)  and  our  jackknives,  it  may  be 
imagined  that  it  was  no  easy  task,  and  the  result  was 
not  quite  as  satisfactory  as  the  green  baize  top  of  a  roll- 
top  desk  of  modern  times.  When  we  had  done  the  best 
we  could,  the  colonel  said:  "Let  it  go  at  that,"  and 
that  settled  it. 

Then  Captain  Scott  called  me  to  his  tent  and  set  me  to 
work  making  out  the  pay  rolls.  This  showed  what  the 
stump  was  to  be  used  for.     The  paymaster  was  coming 

The  pay  rolls,  as  well  as  all  the  other  rolls  of  the 
army,  were  enormous  affairs.  There  is  hardly  a  desk 
made  in  these  days  that  would  accommodate  one  of 
them.  With  the  limited  facilities  at  our  command  at 
the  front  it  was  a  difficult  thing  to  make  them  out  at 
the  best.  The  "desk"  that  I  wrote  upon  was  the  top  of 
an  old  cracker  box,  which  took  in  about  one-quarter  of 
the  big  sheet  of  paper,  and  so  it  had  to  be  made  out  in 
sections,  as  it  were. 


303  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

Three  copies  of  these  rolls  had  to  be  made  out.  They 
contained  the  name  of  the  soldier,  the  date  of  his  enlist- 
ment and  muster,  and  lots  of  other  things,  beside  the 
time  he  had  served  since  his  last  payment.  When  com 
pleted  they  had  to  be  certified  to  by  the  commandant  of 
the  company. 

In  the  army  enlisted  men  had  to  swear  to  all  legal 
proceedings.  The  commissioned  officers  only  had  to 
'  'certify' '  on  their  word  of  honor.  The ' '  word  of  honor' ' 
and  "certification"  of  a  commissioned  officer  was  con- 
sidered as  binding  as  the  oath  of  a  private  or  #'non- 
commish. "  The  former  were  a  higher  grade  of  mortals, 
and  were  governed  by  a  different  code  of  morals. 

That  may  be  all  right  in  theory,  but — well,  never 
mind ! 

A  day  or  so  later  the  paymaster  arrived.  His  high 
and  mighty  giblets  was  of  the  usual  arbitrary  and 
arrogant  character,  an  autocrat  of  the  autocrats.  His 
clerk  spread  the  rolls  out  on  the  stump  we  had  cleared 
off,  and  an  assistant  carried  the  grip  that  contained  the 
boodle. 

The  officers  were  paid  off  first,  of  course,  and  we 
envied  them  as  they  stuffed  the  thick  wad  of  crisp  green- 
backs, never  before  used,  fresh  from  the  press,  into  their 
pockets.  Then  came  the  non-commissioned  officers  and 
then  the  "men." 

The  amount  given  to  each  diminished  in  size  as  the 
process  continued.  The  omnipresent  sutler  was  there 
for  his  grab,  as  usual.  What  was  left  for  each  private 
wasn't  much.  He  might  have  stuck  it  into  his  ear,  and 
it  wouldn't  have  impaired  his  hearing  at  that! 

There  were  two  months  to  be  paid  for.  There  was  a 
good  deal  more  than  that  coming,  but  the  paymasters 
were  always  several  months  behind  in  their  payments 
for  some  reason  or  other.  If  we  were  paid  to  within 
six  months  of  the  time  due,  we  were  lucky. 

When  I  had  signed  my  name  to  the  three  rolls — and 
signing  one's  name  with  a  scraggly  pen  on  the  rough 
top  of  the  stump  was  no  soft  snap  at  that — and  the  pay- 
master had  deducted  the  amount  due  to  the  sutler,  I  had 
fourteen  dollars  left.  I  hadn't  spent  so  much  with  the 
sutler  this  time,  probably  because  the  sutler  had  been 
separated  from  the  regiment  so  much  of  the  time.     , 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  30? 

A  large  proportion  of  the  men  sent  their  money 
home,  through  the  medium  of  messengers  sent  to  the 
front  for  the  purpose  by  Governor  Marcus  L.  Ward. 
This  was  a  good  and  safe  arrangement.  It  was  also 
touching  to  witness  the  devotion  of  the  men  to  their 
families  at  home.  Some  of  them  sent  every  cent  when 
a  little  change  would  have  provided  them  with  many  a 
luxury. 

I  didn't  send  mine  home.  I  had  no  one  to  depend  on 
me,  and  I  was  glad  of  it.  On  the  contrary  I  soon  got 
rid  of  the  bulk  of  mine  in  another  way.  I  am  sorry  to 
tell  how,  but  the  truth  must  be  told,  even  though  it  be 
not  very  creditable. 

Sam  Dougherty,  one  of  the  sergeants,  came  up  to  me 
and  asked : 

"How  much  did  you  get?" 

"Fourteen  dollars,"  I  replied. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"I  don't  know.     Keep  it,  I  suppose." 

"Suppose  we  have  a  little  draw?"  he  said. 


308  THE  TOUNa  VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

A  LITTLE  GAME   OF  DRAW. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  draw?"  I  innocently  asked 
Sergeant  Dougherty. 

"Poker,"  he  replied.     "Draw  poker." 

"Pd  make  a  pretty  fist  at  that,"  said  I;  "I  never 
played  a  game  of  poker  in  my  life.  I  can  go  you  on 
High-Low  or  euchre,  but  I  don't  know  anything  about 
poker. ' ' 

"That  makes  no  difference,"  said  he  insinuatingly; 
"it  is  the  easiest  game  to  learn  you  ever  saw,  and  I  can 
show  you  in  five  minutes." 

I  was  innocent,  and  imagined  that  it  must  be  a  simple 
game  that  can  be  learned  in  five  minutes.  Sam  Dough- 
erty was  perhaps  the  first  man  that  ever  lived  that  had 
the  assurance  to  make  such  an  assertion. 

We  went  to  Sam's  log  house,  and  with  a  greasy  old 
deck  of  cards  spread  out  on  the  lid  of  a  cracker  box,  he 
began  to  initiate  me  into  the  mysteries  and  intricacies 
of  the  great  game  of  "draw." 

He  fired  at  me  a  perfectly  bewildering  lot  of  straights, 
full  houses,  bob-tail  flushes,  royal  flushes,  ace  and  king 
highs,  and  all  that.  The  more  he  explained  the  more  I 
got  mixed  up.  One  thing  particularly  struck  me,  how- 
ever, and  that  was  the  "bluff."  He  carefully  impressed 
this  on  me,  and  told  me  how  a  man  with  a  poor  hand 
could  frequently  win  if  he  kept  the  right  sort  of  an  ex- 
pression of  confidence  and  didn't  lose  his  nerve. 

I  concluded  that  I'd  let  the  other  things  go  and  con- 
fine myself  to  the  bluff.  I  would  make  that  "the  feat- 
ure" of  my  game. 

The  quartette  indulging  in  that  wonderful  game  com- 
prised Sam  Dougherty,  Lew  Van  Orden,  Charles  Rue- 


THE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER.  309 

stow  and  myself.  Van  Orden  was  a  good  player 
already,  having  bad  considerable  experience  in  tbe 
game.  Ruestow,  like  myself,  was  a  novice.  We  al- 
ways called  him  "Rooster."  Nearly  all  the  soldiers 
had  some  sort  of  a  nickname. 

We  used  little  pieces  of  twigs  for  "chips,"  and  each 
was  supposed  to  represent  five  cents. 

"We'll  make  it  five  cents  ante  with  a  dollar  limit," 
said  Sam.  I  didn't  know  an  ante  from  an  uncle,  but 
didn't  want  to  display  my  ignorance  before  the  others. 

Sam  dealt  the  cards.  I  got  two  deuces,  a  tray,  a  jack 
and  queen.  I  had  caught  on  to  the  fact  that  three  of  a 
kind  was  better  than  two  of  a  kind,  and  so  discarded 
the  jack  and  queen.     Then  I  drew  two  cards. 

They  were  two  jacks. 

What  a  fool  I  was,  I  thought  to  myself.  If  I  had 
only  kept  that  other  Jack  I  would  have  had  three  of 
them.  As  it  was  I  had  two  jacks  and  deuces.  I 
thought  that  was  a  pretty  good  hand. 

All  the  other  fellows  "went  five  better.''  Neither 
Reustow  nor  myself  had  the  slightest  idea  of  what  this 
was,  but  when  we  saw  the  others  lay  down  another  twig 
we  did  the  same  thing.  This  thing  went  around  twice 
and  then  some  one  "called." 

We  threw  down  our  hands,  and  strange  to  say  I  had 
won.  The  next  highest  hand  was  a  pair  of  ten  spots. 
My  jacks  had  beaten  that.  The  man  with  the  ten  spots 
had  also  a  pair  of  nines.  It  struck  me  that  twice  ten 
and  twice  nine  counted  more  than  twice  two  and  two 
jacks,  but  I  entered  no  protest  when  they  said  I  was  the 
winner,  and  I  raked  in  the  chips  representing  about  sixty 
or  seventy  cents,  I've  forgotten  exactly  how  much. 

I  was  elated  at  this  victory.  It  swelled  ni}T  head  and 
I  began  to  imagine  that  I  saw  through  the  whole 
thing.  Sam  was  right  when  he  said  this  was  an  easy 
game! 

In  the  next  hand  I  made  a  phenomenal  draw.  I  held 
four  aces.  By  intuition  I  recognized  that  as  good,  and 
I  could  not  help  looking  pleased. 

Sam  thought  I  was  profiting  by  his  advice  on  the 
question  of  bluff,  and  he  apparently  made  up  his  mind 
to  push  me  to  the  wall.     The  other  fellows  seemed  to 


310  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

have  good  hands  also,  for  the  betting  went  round  and 
round. 

I  won  again.     My  four  aces  was  "good." 

"Are  you  sure  you  never  played  this  game  before?" 
asked  Sam  incredulously. 

I  solemnly  assured  him  that  this  was  the  first  time  I 
had  ever  played  draw  poker.  But  from  the  look  on  his 
face  I  don't  think  that  he  believed  me. 

Lew  Van  Orden  said  nothing,  but  I  noticed  that  he 
exchanged  glances  with  Sam  Dougherty.  I  didn't  un- 
derstand what  it  meant  at  the  time.  Charley  Reustow 
was  also  silent.  But  he  was  a  bright  little  fellow,  and 
I  felt  that  he  was  closely  studyiug  the  game.  As  for 
myself  I  began  to  think  that  I  was  a  boss  player. 

My  next  hand  positively  had  nothing  in  it.  I  gave 
myself  away  by  drawing  five  cards.  Then  I  found  that 
my  hand  was  just  as  bad  if  not  worse  than  before.  But 
I  decided  to  try  the  bluff  game  this  time.  I  didn't 
know  that  bluffing  doesn't  generally  "go"  after  a  five 
card  draw,  but  I  tried  it  all  the  same. 

Singular  to  say  it  worked  all  right.  The  others  had 
grown  suspicious  of  my  good  luck,  and  Sam  apparently 
didn't  think  that  I  would  bluff  after  drawing  five  cards, 
and  imagined  of  course  that  I  had  struck  another 
phenomenal  hand. 

When  I  had  scooped  in  the  third  pot,  Sam  asked  me 
to  let  him  see  my  hand.  I  didn't  knov/  any  better  and 
showed  it  to  him.  When  he  saw  that  there  was  noth- 
ing in  it  he  made  a  remark  that  I  didn't  fully  under- 
stand. It  was  something  like  "being  taken  for  a 
sucker."  I  wasn't  yet  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the 
technical  terms  of  the  game  to  understand  what  this 
meant.  Again  I  noticed  Lew  winking  at  Sam  in  a  some- 
what suggestive  manner. 

Another  hand  being  dealt  and  getting  another  poor 
lot  of  cards,  I  again  tried  the  bluff  game  and  laid  down 
my  chips  with  an  expression  supposed  to  represent  a 
man  who  has  a  good  thing  and  knows  it.  But  it  didn't 
work  this  time.  I  was  "called"  and  Van  Orden 
grabbed  the  pot,  after  exhibiting  three  nines  and  two 
trays.     "A  full  house,"  he  called  it. 

I  began  to  lose  faith  in  the  bluffing  business,    but 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  311 

thought  that  maybe  after  all  my  losing  the  hand  was 
only  an  accident. 

The  next  hand  I  drew  was  "  'way  up  in  G."  It  con- 
tained four  queens  and  a  jack.  I  chipped  in  with  the 
greatest  confidence  and  could  not  conceal  the  certainty 
I  felt  of  winning.  When  somebody  had  "called,"  I 
threw  down  my  four  queens  and  jack  with  a  wave  of 
triumph,  and  made  a  motion  to  grab  the  stakes. 

"Hold  on  there,"  said  Sam,  seizing  my  hand.  "Don't 
be  quite  so  fast,  my  young  man.  I  think  I'll  take  that 
pile." 

"What  have  you  got?"  I  asked. 

He  threw  down  his  hand.  It  didn't  look  to  me  as  if 
it  was  anything  very  wonderful. 

"Well,  what  of  that?"  I  asked.  "That  lot  of  stuff 
don't  beat  four  queens,  does  it?" 

"Of  course  it  does.     That's  a  royal  flush." 

"What  is  a  royal  flush?"  I  asked. 

"It  is  a  hand,"  replied  Sam,  "where  you  have  the 
cards  in  regular  order,  like  one,  two,  three,  etc.,  and  all 
of  the  same  color." 

"Well,  what  of  that?" 

"What  of  that!"  said  Sam,  with  a  face  as  sober  as  a 
judge ;  "that's  the  highest  hand  you  can  hold,  and  takes 
anything." 

"I  thought  a  royal  flush  must  be  all  the  same  suit,'* 
interrupted  Ruestow.  "I  don't  see  how  you  make  it  out 
of  a  mixture  of  diamonds  and  hearts." 

"That  don't  make  any  difference, "  said  Sam,  "so 
long  as  they  are  of  the  same  color.  Isn't  that  so,  Lew?" 
turning  to  Van  Orden. 

"Yes,  that's  so3"  replied  the  latter  gravely.  "All 
that  is  uecessary  is  that  the  sequence  should  be  of  the 
same  color." 

"I  know  that  it  isn't  so,"  interrupted  Ruestow. 
"They  must  be  of  the  same  suit."  Sam  looked  angrily 
at  this  interference,  and  demanded : 

"I  thought  this  was  the  first  game  of  poker  that  you 
ever  played?5 * 

"So  it  is,,:  replied  Ruestow;  "but  I've  read  a  great 
deal  about  the  game  and  know  that  I'm  right." 

A  very  black  look  came  over  the  faces  of  Sam  and 


312  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

Lew.  Ruestow  noticed  this,  and  throwing  down  his 
cards  he  got  up  and  said  he  would  not  play  any  more. 

I  remained,  and  at  the  suggestion  of  the  others  made 
it  a  three-handed  game.  From  that  moment  my  luck 
seemed  to  forsake  me.  I  couldn't  understand  half  the 
decisions  that  were  made,  hut  I  supposed  they  were  all 
right.  They  were  experienced  poker  players  and  this 
was  my  first  game. 

Under  such  circumstances  the  result  was  inevitable. 

When  I  walked  out  an  hour  afterward  my  fourteen 
dollars  were  gone! 

I  can't  say  that  I  regretted  the  experience.  It  had 
taught  me  a  good  lesson.  I  played  many  a  time  after 
that,  while  in  the  army,  but  never  again  for  real  money. 
Plain,  everyday  chips  having  only  a  supposititious  value 
were  good  enough  for  me  after  that. 

But  in  all  my  subsequent  playing  I  never  ran  across 
anybody  who  had  the  same  interpretation  of  a  "royal 
flush"  as  the  two  gentlemen  who  initiated  me  into  the 
mysteries  of  the  game  of  draw. 


TEE  YOUNG   YOLTJNTEEB.  313 


CHAPTER  LIX. 
A  private's  philosophy. 

The  camp  we  occupied  was  "Near  Fairfax  Station,' y 
and  so  our  letters  were  dated  and  our  mail  addressed. 
We  occasionally,  when  we  bad  the  chance,  went  out  to 
see  the  "station."  That  was  all  there  was  of  the  place, 
by  the  way.  It  was  a  big  storehouse,  built  of  rough 
boards,  alongside  the  track,  with  the  platform  on  the 
railroad  side,  so  that  it  was  simply  and  purely  a  freight 
house.  It  was  the  depot  of  supplies  for  the  army  in 
that  part  of  Virginia. 

Such  a  thing  as  a  passenger  car  was  never  seen. 
Everybody  who  rode,  even  the  officers,  sat  in  the  freight 
cars.  The  officers  seemed  to  have  a  good  deal  of  busi- 
ness to  call  them  back  and  forth,  but  there  were  not 
many  privates  to  be  seen  on  the  cars — at  least  not  out- 
ward going.  Occasionally  some  lucky  fellow  would  get 
a  furlough.  But  the  most  were  new  recruits,  arriving 
from  home. 

The  quantity  of  goods  and  provisions  that  continually 
kept  coming  was  immense,  and  for  the  first  time  we 
began  to  get  an  idea  of  the  tremendous  quantities  needed 
to  supply  an  army.  And  we  constituted  only  a  very 
small  portion  of  the  army  at  that. 

There  was  a  strange  sensation  at  the  first  sight  of  a 
railroad  train,  primitive  and  rough  though  it  was,  after 
not  having  had  that  pleasure  for  so  long  a  time.  We 
had  become  impressed  with  the  feeling  that  we  were  m 
another  sort  of  a  world  and  that  such  things  as  steam 
cars  and  carriages,  houses  and  stores,  were  but  the 
memories  of  some  half-forgotten  dream.  But  the  sight 
of  the  locomotive  and  car  seemed  to  open  a  new  link 
with  the  outer  world. 

Particularly  striking  was  it  to  me  to  see  on  the  loco- 


314  TBE  70 UNO   VOLUNTEER, 

motive  the  familliar  name  of  ** Rogers.''  Oh,  you  de- 
lightful old  thing  from  Paterson !  I  could  almost  have 
hugged  it — that  is  if  I  could  have  got  my  arms  around 
something  small  enough  to  hug, 

I  sat  there  on  the  rough  platform  and  gazed  at  the 
name  "Rogers"  as  if  fascinated,  I  forgot  the  sur- 
roundings of  the  place  and  was  carried  back  to  glorious 
old  Paterson!  Then  my  thoughts  wandered  down  to 
the  corner  of  Broadway  and  Main  Street,  to  the  old 
Guardian  building,  and  for  a  few  moments  I  was  back 
there  again,  wearing  a  long  apron  and  "kicking"  the 
Ruggles  press,  I  forgot  for  the  moment  that  kicking  a 
Ruggles  press  is  likened  to  nothing  under  the  sun  beside 
a  treadmill  or  a  slave  galley,  but  it  seemed  a  delight- 
ful occupation  just  then  by  contrast. 

But  I  was  suddenly  awakened  from  the  dream  by  a 
sergeant. 

' '  Let  me  see  your  pass, ' '  said  he. 

I  had  no  pass.  I  had  simply  wandered  over  from  the 
camp  to  "take  a  look  at  things." 

"Then  get  back  to  your  camp,"  said  the  sergeant 
harshly.  He  was  a  member  of  the  provost  guard  or 
something.  They  always  had  something  of  this  sort 
hanging  around  the  depots.  The  powers  that  be  knew 
that  the  cars  awakened  just  such  memories  as  they  had 
awakened  in  me,  and  that  it  was  one  of  the  greatest 
known  incentives  to  desertion. 

I  never  thought  of  desertion.  But  it  may  be  imagined 
what  would  be  the  tendency  of  such  a  train  of  thought 
on  the  part  of  a  soldier  who  ever  dreamed  of  "skedad- 
dling."    So  I  wont  back  to  camp — thinking. 

There  perhaps  was  never  a  soldier  in  the  army  who 
did  not  have  such  moments  as  these,  when  some  out- 
ward conditions  or  situation  would  arouse  a  terribly 
strong  feeling  of  homesickness.  With  some  it  was  a 
good  deal  stronger  than  in  others.  With  some  it  was 
irresistible. 

'Twas  not  always  cowardice  that  made  soldiers  desert. 
Something  stronger  than  fear  caused  some  to  forget 
their  oaths.  Not  even  the  hardships  of  the  winter  at 
the  front,  not  even  the  horrors  of  the  forced  march  was  it 
that  made  men  forget  their  oaths  and  disgrace  themselves 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  315 

in  the  eyes  of  their  country.  It  was  pure  and  unadul- 
terated homesickness. 

Had  there  been  a  more  liberal  policy  in  regard  to  the 
granting  of  furloughs  this  might  have  been  oifset.  The 
officers  refused  furloughs  as  much  as  possible  for  fear 
that  the  soldiers  might  desert.  In  my  opinion  exactly 
the  opposite  would  have  been  the  result. 

I  knew  of  one  poor  fellow  who  deserted  because  he 
had  received  word  that  his  wife  was  on  her  deathbed. 
He  asked  for  a  furlough  but  could  not  get  it.  There 
was  uo  reason  for  the  refusal  at  the  time.  So  he  obeyed 
the  stronger  instinct  and  deserted.  When  his  wife  died 
and  was  buried,  he  started  to  return,  but  was  captured 
by  the  provost  guard,  tried,  convicted,  and  sentenced  to 
one  year  in  a  military  prison.     Of  what  use  was  that? 

I  am  not  going  to  defend  the  deserter.  There  is  noth- 
ing in  the  world  more  despicable.  But  there  were 
deserters  and  deserters,  and  in  dealing  with  them  there 
was  a  lamentable  lack  of  common  sense  and  humanity. 

Another  thing  that  made  us  disgusted  just  about  this 
time  was  the  way  the  officers  were  resign  ing.  They  were 
going  home  by  the  score  and  new  men  were  taking  their 
places.  Our  captain,  Scott,  sent  in  his  resignation,  and 
it  was  accepted  in  a  few  days,  and  the  first  we  privates 
knew  about  it  was  when  he  came  around  and  bade  us 
good-by. 

Captain  Scott  was  not  the  most  noted  officer  in  the 
war,  as  officers  are  regarded,  but  he  was  kind  to  the 
men.  He  was  a  boy  with  the  boys.  At  the  close  of  a 
weary  day's  march  he  would  gather  the  company 
around  him  and  start  up  a  song  in  which  we  would  all 
join,  and  the  hour  or  so  thus  spent  relieved  many  a 
heavy  heart.  The  other  officers  criticized  this  severely, 
saying  that  it  was  unmanly,  and  that  it  was  not  con- 
ducive to  discipline  to  have  a  captain  mingling  so  famil- 
iarly with  his  men.  But  there  was  no  airishness  on 
the  part  of  Captain  Scott  and  his  men  liked  him  for  it. 

At  the  same  time  I  cannot  commend  this  sort  of  busi- 
ness as  a  general  rule.  The  more  an  officer  holds  him- 
self aloof  from  his  men  the  more  will  they  respect  him 
in  the  end,  and  the  better  will  be  the  discipline. 

This  was  made  manifest  by  the  character  of  the  officer 


316  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

who  succeeded  Captain  Scott.  It  was  the  late  adjutant, 
Charles  H.  Hopkins.  He  was  a  man  of  high  breeding, 
finely  educated,  refined,  and  what  might  be  called  a 
member  of  the  four  hundred,  had  there  been  such  a 
thing  in  those  times. 

He  was  the  exact  opposite  of  Captain  Scott.  At  first 
he  would  have  been  considered  a  martinet  and  an  utterly 
heartless  officer.  But  he  understood  military  matters 
better  than  his  predecessors,  and  brought  into  the 
officers'  tent  a  degree  of  dignity  and  manliness  there- 
tofore unknown,  with  the  exception  of  Lieutenant 
Heber  Wells. 

With  the  men  Captain  Hopkins  was  rather  austere. 
Everybody  soon  recognized  the  fact  that  he  was  way 
above  him  in  more  than  his  finer  clothes  and  his  shoul- 
der straps.  It  is  rather  a  hard  task  to  take  a  rough 
stone  and  make  a  finished  diamond  out  of  it,  but  that 
is  just  what  Captain  Hopkins  did  with  Company  K. 

We  first  feared,  then  respected,  then  admired.  We 
recognized  in  him  a  man  of  superior  intelligence  and 
ability — one  who  could  not  only  command,  but  one 
whom  every  man  considered  it  an  honor  to  obey.  The 
result  of  it  was  that  Company  K  soon  obtained  the  rep- 
utation of  being  one  of  the  best  companies  of  the  Thir- 
teenth Regiment,  both  in  discipline  and  drill,  and  even 
those  who  liked  the  free-and-easy  familiarity  of  Captain 
Scott  soon  began  to  appreciate  that  it  is  better  to  have 
a  captain  who  preserves  his  dignity  on  all  occasions, 
and  proves  by  his  conduct  his  superiority  and  his  fitness 
to  be  the  commanding  officer. 

So,  therefore,  not  only  does  this  sort  of  conduct  make 
a  better  officer  in  the  opinion  of  officers,  but  the  fact  is 
very  soon  appreciated  among  the  privates.  The  old 
army  officers  are  right.  The  general  rule  is  good,  that 
the  less  contact  and  less  familiarity,  in  a  strictly  per- 
sonal way,  there  is  between  officer  and  private,  the  better 
the  discipline  and  the  greater  the  efficiency  of  the  or- 
ganization. 

I  think  this  rule  holds  good  in  civil  life  as  well  as 
military.  It  is  human  nature  for  men  to  hold  those 
oyer  them  in  higher  respect  if  they  keep  themselves  be- 
hind a  breastwork  of  dignity  that  is  not  carried  to  such 
an  extent  that  it  is  offensive. 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  31? 

There  were  changes  in  all  the  other  companies,  so 
many  had  been  the  resignations  and  consequent  promo- 
tions. Many  of  the  sergeants  stepped  one  grade  higher, 
and  discarded  the  government  uniforms  of  "enlisted 
men,"  for  the  finer  cloth  of  "commissioned  officers." 

And  let  me  say  right  here,  that  of  all  the  martinets, 
the  rough,  tyrannizing  officers  of  the  army,  there  were 
none  so  bad  as  a  man  who  had  just  been  promoted  from 
the  ranks  to  the  shoulder  straps.  For  a  little  while  the 
sudden  transition  from  subserviency  to  power  made  the 
new  officer  a  petty  tyrant.  But  fortunately  this  soon 
passed  over,  as  soon  as  he  became  familiar  with  the 
privileges  and  novelties  of  power. 

Some  of  the  promotions  from  the  ranks  were  obtained 
from  what  in  these  days  would  be  called  a  "pull." 
Political  influence,  friendly  connections  or  relationships 
with  those  in  authority,  and  similar  causes,  frequently 
resulted,  for  instance,  in  a  private  being  promoted  right 
over  the  heads  of  a  lot  of  corporals  and  sergeants  whose 
turn  would  have  come  next.  This  always  made  a  great 
deal  of  dissatisfaction  and  grumbling.  But  it  couldn't 
be  helped.  All  that  the  disappointed  ones  could  do  was 
to  kick — like  a  mule. 

While  all  this  comes  in  quite  properly  and  consecu- 
tively, yet  it  is  somewhat  of  a  digression  from  my  story, 
to  which  I  will  now  return. 


318  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LX. 
"the  mud  march." 

"Joe,"  said  my  pard,  "if  you  want  to  see  a  queer 
sort  of  a  bridge,  just  come  down  to  the  creek. ' ' 

"What  is  it,  John?"  I  asked.  "What  is  there  so 
very  queer  about  it?" 

"Come  down  and  see.     It's  only  a  little  ways." 

We  went  down  to  the  little  creek  that  we  had  already 
crossed  over  several  times.  There  was  still  a  consider- 
able quantity  of  water  in  the  stream  and  it  was  running 
almost  with  the  swiftness  of  a  mill  race. 

The  bridge  was  really  worth  going  to  see.  One  had 
been  constructed  already  and  the  "sappers  and  miners," 
as  the  military  engineers  were  called  by  the  soldiers, 
were  at  work  upon  a  second  one  near  by. 

The  distance  between  the  sides  or  banks  of  the  stream 
must  have  been  forty  or  fifty  feet.  The  bridges  that 
were  being  constructed  were  made  of  trunks  of  small 
trees  perhaps  five  or  six  inches  in  diameter,  and  not  one 
of  them  more  than  ten  feet  long.  It  is  not  such  a  hard 
task  to  erect  a  bridge  fifty  feet  in  length  out  of  timber 
ten  feet  long,  providing  one  has  plenty  of  spikes  or  bolts 
or  something  of  that  sort  to  fasten  the  pieces  together, 
and  there  are  piers  in  the  stream  to  lay  the  ends,  so  as 
to  divide  the  bridge  into  spans. 

But  these  bridges  were  being  built  in  a  single  arch, 
and  there  was  not  a  pier  in  the  middle.  Furthermore 
the  short  pieces  of  timber  were  not  nailed  or  spiked  to- 
gether. They  were  simply  interlocked  in  a  curious 
manner  hardly  possible  to  describe  without  a  diagram. 
The  ends  passed  each  other,  and  there  were  two  cross 
pieces  at  each  end  of  the  poles — they  were  nothing  more 
than  thick  poles— all  arranged  in  such  a  manner  that 
they  bound  against  each  other  and  made  a  very  solicj 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  319 

structure.  The  greater  the  weight  placed  upon  them 
the  stronger  they  were,  while  a  comparatively  slight 
pressure  upward  from  underneath  would  have  knocked 
the  structure  apart  as  if  it  had  been  of  cardboard. 

This  was  a  curiosity  to  me  and  the  many  others  who 
watched  the  erection  of  the  bridges.  To  make  a  bridge 
with  a  forty  or  fifty  foot  span  out  of  pieces  not  more 
than  ten  feet  long,  without  a  piece  of  metal  or  a  rope  to 
fasten  it  together,  is  really  a  feat  in  engineering  won- 
derful to  contemplate. 

I  have  since  that  time  made  little  bridges  on  this 
principle  out  of  matches  or  toothpicks,  with  a  span  of 
nearly  a  yard,  to  the  great  wonder  of  all  who  saw  it. 
We  saw  the  same  sort  of  bridge  many  a  time  after,  as 
well  as  many  other  curious  things  that  were  done  by 
the  sappers  and  miners.  But  when  we  saw  the  first  of 
these  structures,  and  presently  saw  heavy  baggage 
wagons  crossing  them,  it  really  did  seem  as  if  all  the 
rules  of  mechanics  had  been  upset. 

"I  think  the  building  of  these  bridges  is  rather  sus- 
picious," said  Butter  worth. 

"What  do  3^011  mean  by  that?"  I  asked. 

"I  think  that  this  army  is  getting  ready  for  a  move." 

"Why,"  I  replied,  "they  said  that  this  was  to  be  our 
winter  quarters  and  that  we  would  remain  in  camp  here 
till  the  weather  got  better.  I  don't  think  we  are  likely 
to  make  a  move  for  some  time  yet. ' ' 

"You  remember  what  a  time  they  had  getting  the 
wagons  and  artillery  through  that  mud  before,"  said 
Butterworth.  "Well,  they  are  making  better  arrange- 
ments this  time.  Those  bridges  are  so  that  the  wagons 
can  be  got  across  better.  I  tell  you  they  would  never 
have  built  them  if  they  did  not  intend  to  make  a  start. 
If  we  were  to  remain  here  some  time  longer  they  would 
wait  till  the  water  went  down  and  then  ford  the  creek." 

"That  looks  reasonable,"  I  replied.  "But  what  is 
the  sense  of  changing  our  position  now?  We  have  got 
as  good  a  place  to  camp  in  for  the  winter  as  we  could 
find  anywhere.  They  certainly  would  not  be  so  foolish 
as  to  start  a  campaign  with  the  roads  in  their  present 
condition,  would  they?" 

"I  shouldn't  think  so,"   replied    Butterworth.     "I 


330  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

don't  see  what  they  could  do  if  they  did  make  a  start, 
for  they  couldn't  get  far  anyhow.  But  there  is  no  tell- 
ing what  they  won't  do.  And  I  tell  you  I  helieve  those 
bridges  are  not  being  built  for  nothing.  If  Ave  are  not 
ordered  to  pack  up  our  knapsacks  and  get  out  of  here 
very  soon,  I'm  greatly  mistaken  in  my  guess." 

John  Butterworth  was  a  pretty  good  guesser.  He 
had  a  habit  of  putting  this  and  that  together  and  com- 
ing, by  a  sort  of  intuition  he  possessed,  pretty  near  the 
truth.  In  less  than  twenty-four  hours  we  received 
orders  to  pack  knapsacks  and  get  ready  for  a  march. 

I  don't  think  we  ever  received  this  order  less  joyfully. 
We  had  the  most  comfortable  log  house  we  had  ever 
occupied.  There  was  plenty  of  wood  and  an  abundant 
supply  of  excellent  water.  It  was  an  ideal  spot  for 
winter  quarters,  and  we  had  come  to  the  happy  conclu- 
sion that  we  were  sure  of  having  a  comfortable  place  to 
remain  till  the  spring  weather  made  going  better. 

But  there's  no  rest  for  the  soldier.  No  sooner  does 
he  think  that  he  is  settled  for  a  while  and  proceed  to 
make  himself  as  comfortable  as  possible  under  the  cir- 
cumstances than  along  comes  that  relentless  order  to 
"Fall  in  for  march." 

We  started  early  in  the  morning  of  the  19th  of  Jan- 
uary, 1863.  We  bade  adieu  to  our  comfortable  house 
and  our  cozy  camp  with  genuine  regret.  We  were  off  for 
no  one  knew  where.  "Anudder  schlaughter  haus," 
John  Ick  said. 

We  had  not  gone  a  great  distance  before  the  skies  be- 
came overcast,  and  the  gathering  clouds  in  the  east 
betokened  the  approach  of  a  great  storm.  But  soldiers  do 
not  stop  for  storms. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  I  might  not  have  men- 
tioned the  fact  of  the  approaching  storm  here,  for  I  have 
already  described  several  storms  in  the  front.  But  this 
storm  was  one  that  has  gone  into  history.  It  has  ever 
since  been  referred  to  as  one  of  the  events  of  the  day. 

It  didn't  rain  right  away,  however.  Great  bodies 
move  slowly.  Great  storms  usually  come  up  deliber- 
ately. In  fact  the  length  of  time  a  storm  takes  in  mak- 
ing preliminary  operations,  as  a  general  rule,  is  indica- 
tive of  its  duration  and  severity.     We  marched  through 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  321 

Dumphries,  a  place  that  had  just  been  occupied  by- 
General  Siegel's  corps,  and  went  into  camp  on  the  fur- 
ther side  of  the  town,  near  a  little  stream  called  Quan- 
tico  creek. 

In  the  night  the  threatened  storm  broke  loose.  And 
such  a  storm !  The  rain  came  down  literally  in  torrents. 
The  "pup"  tents  were  of  no  more  use  than  so  many 
sieves.  They  were  called  "shelter  tents,"  but  they  were 
anything  else  than  a  shelter  on  that  occasion.  We  spent 
the  night  standing  up  or  walking  around,  on  the  prin- 
ciple that  a  man  erect  affords  less  surface  to  be  exposed 
to  the  rain  than  a  man  lying  down.  Besides  the  water 
was  apparently  two  or  three  inches  deep  on  the  ground, 
so  that  we  might  as  well  have  undertaken  to  go  to  bed 
in  a  bath  tub. 

There  was  not  a  man  who  was  not  drenched  to  the 
skin.  If  we  had  been  thrown  into  the  river  we  could 
not  have  been  more  thoroughly  soaked.  The  wood  was 
so  saturated  that  it  was  impossible  to  build  a  fire  in  the 
morning,  and  we  consequently  had  to  go  without  our 
much-needed  hot  coffee.  The  wet  clothes,  saturated 
knapsacks  and  other  things  almost  doubled  the  load  we 
had  to  carry.  But  all  this  made  no  difference.  The 
relentless  march  was  ordered  to  proceed. 

We  had  not  gone  far  before  we  were  compelled  to 
throw  away  our  woolen  blankets  and  other  things, 
which  were  so  saturated  with  water  as  to  be  useless, 
and  the  weight  was  more  than  we  could  carry.  And 
here  it  was  in  the  dead  of  winter  at  that !  The  loss  of 
the  blankets  unquestionably  meant  suffering  for  us 
when  night  came,  but  we  could  not  help  that.  There 
was  no  alternative. 

The  mud  had  become  deeper  than  ever,  and  the  tramp 
of  so  many  thousand  feet  made  it  sticky  and  mushy. 
We  floundered  around,  seemingly  aimlessly,  for  awhile 
and  finally  came  to  the  banks  of  another  creek,  which 
we  were  expected  to  cross  to  get  to  where  we  were  going, 
wherever  that  might  be. 

Here  another  obstacle  was  encountered.  The  rain 
had  swollen  the  creek  several  times  its  usual  height,  so 
that  it  could  not  be  forded.  Fortunately  some  big  trees 
were  growing  in  the  neighborhood  and  these  were  felled 


322  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

and  dragged  to  the  creek  and  thrown  across.  This  in- 
volved no  end  of  labor  and  consumed  a  good  deal  of 
time. 

It  took  five  or  six  hours  to  get  the  infantry  across  on 
the  rough  bridge  that  had  been  completed,  but  then  it 
was  found  that  it  was  impossible  to  get  the  artillery  and 
baggage  wagons  over.  So  there  was  another  delay. 
The  bridge  had  to  be  made  more  perfect  for  the  wheeled 
vehicles. 

A  row  of  logs  was  laid  across  the  timbers  of  the 
bridge  and  the  tops  hewed  off,  till  it  formed  a  sort  of 
corduroy  road.  The  artillery  was  then  brought  across 
on  this  structure,  but  here  another  trouble  was  experi- 
enced. The  wheels  of  the  heavy  cannons  only  mixed 
up  the  mud  on  the  other  side  of  the  creek,  till  it  became 
impossible  to  pull  the  artillery  through,  no  matter  how 
many  horses  and  mules  there  might  be  harnessed  up. 

It  is  no  exaggeration  to  state  that  the  mud  was  above 
the  hubs  of  both  the  cannon  wheels  and  those  of  the 
wagons  and  ambulances.  But  a  small  portion  had  got 
across  when  everything  came  to  a  dead  halt.  Not  a 
wheel  could  be  moved.  The  army  of  the  Potomac  was 
stuck  in  the  mud ! 

For  four  days  we  labored  there  trying  to  get  out  of 
the  mire.  Every  soldier  had  to  take  his  turn  at  the 
wheels  of  the  wagons  and  cannons,  trying  to  help  push 
them  through,  but  in  those  four  days  not  more  than  two 
miles  were  made. 

Then  the  infantry,  of  which  we  were  a  part,  were 
ordered  to  cut  loose,  and  we  were  marched  off  in  another 
direction,  and  after  a  long  and  tedious  tramp,  or  rather 
I  should  say  "wallow,"  we  finally  reached  Stafford 
Court  House,  completely  exhausted.  It  was  several 
days  later  before  the  artillery  got  out  of  their  mud  hole. 
They  were  stuck  fast  in  the  mire  when  they  should  have 
been  shooting  the  big  guns  at  the  enemy. 

Of  course  we  did  not  appreciate  at  the  time  what  all 
this  movement  meant,  but  we  found  out  afterward  that 
General  Burnside  had  commenced  a  second  attack  on 
Fredericksburg,  and  this  was  just  what  that  was.  One 
would  think  that  after  the  first  terrible  repulse  Burn- 
side  had  received  at  Fredericksburg    he  would   have 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER,  323 

hesitated  before  trying  it  again,  or  at  least  waited  till 
the  weather  was  suitable.  But  he  didn't.  He  tried  it 
at  a  time  when  it  was  not  fit  for  an  army  to  march,  let 
alone  engage  in  a  battle  with  a  fortified  enemy,  and  the 
result  was  another  disaster. 

This  was  the  affair  that  has  gone  into  history  as  the 
"second  Fredericksburg  campaign."  Not  a  shot  was 
fired.  Instead  of  engaging  the  enemy  we  were  stuck 
fast  in  the  mud,  not  far  from  Dumphries.  As  said, 
history  calls  it  "the  second  Fredericksburg  campaign." 

The  boys  forever  after  called  it  "the  mud  march." 

To  this  day  you  never  hear  an  old  soldier  speak  of 
that  affair  without  calling  it  by  its  natural  and  appro- 
priate title  of  "Mud  March." 

That  event  settled  the  career  of  General  Burnside. 
Immediately  after  that  he  was  relieved  from  the  com- 
mand of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac. 


324  THE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

THE   CORPS  BADGES. 

General  Burnside  was  right  when  he  said,  on 
somewhat  reluctantly  assuming  command  of  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac,  that  he  did  not  consider  himself  quali- 
fied for  the  position.  He  had  been  one  of  the  best  corps 
commanders  in  the  army.  When  ordered  by  the  com- 
manding general  to  perform  a  certain  duty  he  always 
did  it,  and  did  it  well.  But  when  it  came  to  commanding 
a  big  army  himself,  and  originating  the  movements  as 
well  as  executing  them,  he  was  an  utter  failure. 

The  historian  therefore  must  not  blame  General 
Burnside  for  what  he  did  not  do.  He  was  not  qualified 
for  the  position  of  commander  and  knew  it,  and  he 
should  never  have  been  appointed.  But  his  service  in 
other  respects  in  the  army  and  his  subsequent  brilliant 
career  in  congress  more  than  offset  all  his  shortcomings 
as  a  commanding  general. 

General  Hooker,  who  succeeded  Burnside,  was  an 
entirely  different  sort  of  a  man.  Among  the  soldiers 
he  always  went  by  the  sobriquet  of  "Fighting  Joe." 
He  was  a  dashing,  courageous  man,  one  born  to  com- 
mand. Tho  soldiers  liked  him  and  had  the  most  im- 
plicit confidence  in  his  ability  and  judgment.  The  only 
fault  with  General  Hooker  was  that  he  was  not  exactly  a 
representative  of  the  total  abstinence  party.  Not  to 
mince  words,  he  used  to  get  gloriously  drunk. 

Truth  compels  the  statement,  I  regret  to  say,  that  if 
this  were  a  disqualification,  there  would  not  have  been 
many  men  left  in  the  army  to  command  it.  General 
Howard  on  the  Union  side  and  General  Stonewall  Jack- 
son on  the  part  of  the  Confederates,  are  the  only  ones 
credited  with  having  gone  through  the  war  without 
touching  intoxicating  liquors.     There  may  have  been 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  325 

others,  and  probably  were,  but  these  are  the  only  ones 
I  ever  heard  of.  I  am  merely  mentioning  it  as  about 
the  only  thing  that  could  be  raised  against  General 
Hooker  as  being  a  proper  general  to  be  placed  in  com- 
mand of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac. 

The  common  soldiers  did  not  care  for  that,  however. 
They  all  liked  General  Hooker,  and  the  result  of  his  ap- 
pointment was  immediately  noticeable.  The  men  had 
become  discouraged  and  downhearted  with  the  repeated 
failures  and  defeats,  the  senseless  marches  and  seeming- 
ly meaningless  maneuvers  and  they  hailed  with  delight 
the  advent  of  a  commander  who,  they  believed,  would 
put  an  end  to  this  sort  of  work. 

The  effects  of  the  improvements  resulting  from  the 
orders  given  by  the  new  commander  were  apparent 
throughout  the  army.  Desertions,  which  had  again  be- 
come alarmingly  frequent,  the  executions  at  Leesburg 
having  become  by  this  time  almost  forgotten,  were  at 
once  stopped,  and  the  discipline  of  the  army  generally 
was  otherwise  improved  in  a  thousand  different  ways. 

General  Hooker  began  to  manifest  a  hitherto  un- 
known regard  for  the  individual  comfort  of  the  troops. 
He  issued  orders  that  did  away  with  many  of  the  exist- 
ing abuses  and  in  some  way  managed  to  in  fuse  a  degree 
of  life  and  vigor  among  them  such  as  had  never  been 
known  before.  The  cavalry  had  hitherto  been  a  sort  of 
go-as-you-please  attachment  of  the  army,  confined  to 
squadrons  or  regiments,  and  attached  to  no  regular 
branch  or  department  more  extensive.  He  organized 
them  into  brigades  and  divisions,  the  same  as  the  in- 
fantry, and  soon  made  them  a  most  important  branch  of 
the  service. 

It  is  perfectly  safe  to  make  the  statement  that  before 
the  advent  of  General  Hooker  none  of  the  commanders 
had  much  of  an  idea  of  the  use  of  the  cavalry  anyhow. 
They  were  used  without  system  or  order,  and  seemed 
merely  to  exist  because  it  had  been  the  custom  from 
time  immemorial  to  have  such  a  thing  as  cavalry  in  an 
army.  General  Hooker,  however,  changed  all  this,  and 
from  that  time  on  the  cavalry  were  made  to  understand 
that  they  constituted  a  most  important  department  of 
the  army. 


326  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

The  gallant  General  Phil  Kearny,  whose  death  at 
Chantilly  has  been  before  referred  to,  was  a  great  friend 
and  associate  of  Hooker  before  the  former's  death. 
One  of  Kearny's  pet  schemes  was  the  idea  of  adopting 
corps  badges,  after  the  French  idea.  He  had  something 
of  the  kind  for  his  own  corps,  but  never  lived  to  see  it 
adopted  by  the  army  generally.  It.  is  generally  sup- 
posed that  General  McClellan  was  the  originator  of  the 
corps  badge  idea,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  General 
Kearny  who  originated  it,  and  General  Hooker  who 
carried  it  into  effect. 

Kemembering  the  pet  idea  of  his  old  friend  Kearny 
and  being  impressed  with  its  utility,  General  Hooker 
decided  to  adopt  it  for  the  entire  army  immediately 
after  his  assumption  of  command.  The  corps  badges 
from  that  time  on  became  a  distinguishing  mark  and 
their  usefulness  was  proven  6n  more  than  one  occasion. 

The  badges  for  the  officers  were  generally  made  of 
velvet  with  a  border  of  gold  braid,  like  the  shoulder 
straps.  Those  of  the  men  were  cut  out  of  a  piece  of 
cloth  or  flannel.  The  shape  of  the  badges  designated 
the  corps,  and  the  color  the  division  of  the  corps.  This 
designation  was  not  subdivided  down  so  low  as  bri- 
gades. All  these  badges  were  worn  on  the  top  of  the 
forage  caps,  or  in  the  front  of  the  hat,  if  it  were  of 
slouch  pattern. 

Take  the  Twelfth  corps  for  instance.  Its  badge  was 
a  five-pointed  star.  If  red,  it  indicated  the  First  Divis- 
ion. If  white,  it  meant  the  Second  Division,  and  blue 
was  the  color  indicative  of  the  Third  Division.  There 
were  seldom  more  than  three  divisions  in  a  corps,  nor 
more  than  three  brigades  in  a  division. 

No  matter  where  an  officer  or  soldier  might  be,  the 
badge  not  only  indicated  what  corps  he  belonged  to, 
but  even  the  division.  The  officers  could  therefore  see 
the  command  of  any  man,  and  the  men  could  the  more 
readily  discover  friends  and  associates,  for  it  must  not 
be  imagined  that  every  soldier  knew  every  other  soldier, 
even  of  his  own  corps  or  division,  by  his  face.  Thes o 
corps  badges  were,  so  to  speak,  the  signboards  for  both 
officers  and  privates  in  the  army,  and  they  were  one  of 
the  most  useful  things  ever  concocted.     That  this  is  so, 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  327 

may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  ever  since  the  war  of 
the  rebellion  in  this  country  the  corps  badge  has  been 
regularly  adopted  in  the  army  of  every  civilized  country 
on  the  face  of  the  globe. 

For  further  information  of  the  unmilitary  reader  I 
will  give  a  list  of  the  corps  badges  of  the  army,  viz. : 

First  corps,  a  lozenge,  or  "full  moon,"  as  the  boys 
called  it. 

Second  corps,  a  trefoil,  but  more  commonly  desig- 
nated as  the  ace  of  clubs  or  the  clover  leaf. 

Third  corps,  a  diamond,  the  badge  of  Kearny's  old 
command. 

Fourth  corps,  a  triangle. 

Fifth  corps,  a  Maltese  cross. 

Sixth  corps,  a  Greek  cross. 

Seventh  corps,  a  star  and  crescent. 

Eighth  corps,  a  six-pointed  star. 

Ninth  corps,  a  shield,  anchor  and  cannon. 

Tenth  corps,  a  sort  of  diamond  cross. 

Eleventh  corps,  a  crescent,  or  more  commonly  called 
by  the  boys,  "new  moon." 

Twelfth  (and  afterward  Twentieth)  corps,  a  five-cor- 
nered star. 

Thirteenth  corps  (there  was  never  a  Thirteenth  corps). 

Fourteenth  corps,  an  acorn. 

Fifteenth  corps,  a  cartridge  box  in  a  square. 

Sixteenth  corps,  a  circular  cross,  made  by  taking  a 
First  corps  badge  and  cutting  four  small  wedges  out  of 
it,  from  which  some  of  the  soldiers  called  it  "pie." 

Seventeenth  corps,  an  arrow. 

Eighteenth  corps,  a  sort  of  scolloped-edged  diamond. 

Nineteenth  corps,  an  ornamentally  shaped  Maltese 
cross. 

Twentieth  corps,  same  as  the  Twelfth.  The  Twen- 
tieth corps  was  composed  of  the  consolidation  of  the 
Eleventh  and  Twelfth  when  they  were  transferred  to 
General  Sherman's  Army  of  the  Cumberland,  and  the 
Twelfth  corps  badge  was  adopted,  the  "new  moon"  of 
the  Eleventh  being  discarded. 

Twenty-first  corps.  This  corps  was  disbanded  before 
the  badges  were  adopted. 

Twenty -second  corps,  a  five-armed  cross. 


328  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER, 

Twenty -third  corps,  a  shield. 

Twenty-fourth  corps,  a  heart. 

Twenty-fifth  corps,  a  diamond  inside  of  a  square. 

Potomac  cavalr}r  corps,  crossed  swords,  surrounded  by 
lines  representing  the  rays  of  the  sun. 

Wilson's  cavalry,  a  badge  containing  crossed  sword3 
and  suspended  from  a  miniature  carbine. 

Engineering  corps,  a  rather  elaborate  badge,  consist- 
ing of  a  scroll,  surmounted  with  a  castle,  underneath 
which  was  an  anchor  and  pair  of  oars. 

Signal  corps,  a  torch,  flanked  with  a  couple  of  "wig- 
wag" flags.  In  the  army  this  corps  was  alwajTs  re- 
ferred to  as  the  "wig-waggers,"  as  they  are  in  the  New 
York  militia  to-day. 

I  have  given  all  the  corps  badges  here  as  a  matter  of 
information,  not  only  for  the  readers  of  this  generally, 
but  for  the  old  soldiers  as  well.  I  do  not  believe  that 
there  are  ten  per  cent,  of  the  men  who  served  m  the 
army  who  ever  saw  a  complete  list  of  these  badges 
before  this.  They  were  only  acquainted  with  those  of 
their  immediate  army.  The  Arm 3-  of  the  Potomac 
comprised  the  First,  Second,  Third,  Fifth,  Sixth, 
Eleventh  and  Twelfth  Corps  and  these  badges  are  per- 
haps very  familiar  to  the  veterans  living  hereabout. 
Those  residing  in  the  West  will  be  more  familiar  with 
some  of  the  others. 

Of  course  General  Hooker  had  nothing  to  do  with  any 
of  the  soldiers  except  those  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac, 
but  the  other  generals,  hearing  of  it,  thought  well  of  it 
and  so  adopted  the  badge  system  also,  until  it  spread 
over  the  entire  army  of  the  Union. 

It  is  singular  that  there  never  was  a  Thirteenth  corps 
in  the  armj",  and  consequently  no  badge  for  that  num- 
ber. It  is  said  that  this  was  on  account  of  there  being 
a  superstition  against  the  number  thirteen.  This  rule 
did  not  apply  to  regiments,  however,  and  it  is  a  note- 
worthy fact  that  those  bearing  the  alleged  unlucky 
number  turned  out  protty  lucky  after  all,  comparatively 
speaking.   Take  the  Thirteenth  New  Jersey,  for  instance. 

There  was  a  Twenty-first  corps  once,  but  it  was  con- 
solidated with  the  Fourth  and  some  others  before  the 
badges  were  adopted,  and  never  rehabilitated. 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEEE.  329 

I  might  mention  the  fact  right  here  that  there  was 
never  a  Company  J  in  the  infantry  of  our  army,  and  this 
rule  holds  good  to  the  present  day,  not  only  in  the  armies 
of  the  United  States,  but  of  other  countries  of  the  world. 
One  reason  for  this,  it  is  said,  is  that  a  J  is  so  like  an  I 
that  the  two  get  mixed  in  making  out  the  reports.  But 
the  better  and  more  probable  reason  is  in  the  fact  that 
at  the  time,  centuries  ago,  when  they  began  to  enumer- 
ate companies  by  letters,  there  was  no  letter  J  in  the 
alphabet. 

Regiments  of  infantry  seldom  if  ever  have  more  than 
ten  companies,  which  only  runs  down  to  the  letter  K. 
In  the  cavalry  and  artillery,  however,  I  have  seen  com- 
panies way  down  to  L  and  M. 

But  to  return  to  the  story. 


330  TEE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

CAPTAIN  AND   PRIVATE. 

Some  of  the  boys  kicked  at  the  adoption  of  the  corps 
badges.  It  was  to  have  been  expected.  They  would 
have  kicked  at  anything  under  the  sun.  Had  an  officer 
come  along  with  an  honorable  discharge  for  every  one 
of  them,  I  really  believe  that  two-thirds  would  have 
kicked  because  they  had  been  discharged  without  hav- 
ing asked  for  it. 

As  before  stated  somewhere,  a  soldier's  efficiency  was 
indicated  to  a  large  degree  by  the  vigor  of  his  strength 
in  kicking.  And  with  this  as  a  standard  of  excellence, 
it  can  never  be  gainsaid  that  the  Thirteenth  Regiment 
of  New  Jersey  Volunteers  was  one  of  the  very  best  regi- 
ments in  the  army  of  the  Union. 

"Well,  what  is  your  objection  to  the  badge,  John?" 
I  asked  Ick,  who  was  one  of  the  most  vigorous  objectors 
to  the  new  insiguia.  "Isn't  that  pretty  red  star  an  ad- 
dition to  your  make-up?" 

"I  don't  want  some  make-ups,  what  you  callem,"  he 
answered.  "I  don't  like  dot  alretty.  Dot  vas  nottings 
else  under  ein  bull's-eyes.  Dot  vas  for  dose  rebbels  to 
shoot  mit,  ain't  it." 

"Shut  ye'r  blarney,"  interrupted  Ready  Mahar. 
"D'ye  ivver  s'pose  ye  will  venture  close  enough  to  the 
innemy  for  'em  to  see  that  little  sthar  on  yer  cap? 
How's  the  rebels  ter  see  the  sthar  wid  yer  head  forninst 
a  rubber  blanket,  Oid  loike  to  know?" 

"Who  vas  dot  hides  his  head  alretty  under  dot  rub- 
ber blankets,  Reddy?"  demanded  Ick,  getting  angry. 

"Ye  did,  ye  spalpeen,"  replied  Reddy. 

"Ven  do  I  dot?" 

"At  An-tee-tam." 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  831 

" Who  did?" 

"Ye  did." 

''Who  told  you  dot?" 

"Ivverybody.  And  faith,  an'  didn't  Oi  see  ye  me- 
self?" 

"Den  vot  vas  you  doing  there  your  own  selluf, 
alretty,  eh?" 

It  wasn't  often  that  Ick  got  the  better  of  the  ready 
witted  Irishman  on  a  repartee,  but  he  did  this  time. 
As  will  be  remeaibered,  Ick  was  discovered  at  the  bat- 
tle of  Antietam  hiding  under  a  rubber  blanket,  where 
he  was  found  and  dragged  out  by  Sergeants  Wells  and 
Van  Orden.  Reddy  started  to  taunt  Ick  about  this,  but 
Ick  had  turned  the  tables  on  Mahar  by  demanding  to 
know  what  he  was  doing  there  to  see  it. 

While  Reddy  was  always  ready  to  make  a  joke  at  the 
expense  of  John  Ick,  he  didn't  like  to  have  it  turned  on 
himself,  and  this  turn  of  the  tables  made  him  hopping 
mad,  and  he  completely  forgot  himself. 

"I  didn't  say  Oi  was  there  meself,"  said  Reddy  un- 
blushingly.  "I  said  that  everybody  said  that  you  hid 
ye'rself  forninst  the  rubber  blanket  while  the  foightin' 
was  goin'  on,  and  ye  can't  deny  it,  that's  phwat  ye 
can't." 

"You  just  said  you  vas  there  und  see  me  under  dot 
blanket,  under  you  vas  notting  but  em  liars  all  the 
times.  Don'd  he  vas  said  so,  fellers?"  (addressing  the 
crowd. ) 

We  had  to  corroborate  John  in  this  instance.  He 
had  Reddy  foul  and  no  mistake.  JSTow  when  Mahar 
was  cornered  he  always  wanted  to  settle  the  matter  with 
a  fight,  and  he  quickly  came  to  the  conclusion  then  and 
there  that  the  only  way  he  could  retrieve  his  mistake 
was  to  give  John  Ick  a  trouncing. 

Off  went  his  coat  and  hat,  and  he  spat  on  his  hands 
ready  for  the  fray.  Ick  was  in  a  good  humor  over  the 
way  it  had  turned  out,  and  made  no  attempt  at  self- 
defense.  Mahar  began  berating  him  for  being  a  cow- 
ard, and  the  words  were  becoming  loud  and  angry  when 
suddenly  Captain  Hopkins  put  in  an  appearance. 

Now  Captain  Hopkins  was  a  man  who  never  lost  his 
dignity,  and  he  had  the  respect  of  every  member  of 


332  THE  YOTTN&   VOLUNTEER. 

Company  K  to  that  extent  that  every  one  was  on  his 
good  behavior  when  he  was  around.  The  incipient 
fracas  was  therefore  ended  as  if  by  magic.  Mahar 
slowly  pat  on  his  coat  and  hat  again,  and  Ick  went  to 
his  tent  a  moment  afterward. 

Captain  Hopkins  stood  there  like  a  statue,  looking  at 
the  crowd  without  saying  a  word.  But  everybody  knew 
what  sort  of  a  man  he  was,  and  soon  the  crowd  was  dis- 
persed quietly  and  orderly  as  if  it  was  a  handful  of 
snow  melting  under  the  rays  of  the  sun.  I  was  one  of 
the  last  to  remain. 

"Come  up  to  my  tent,  Joe,"  said  the  captain.  "I 
have  some  writing  for  you  to  do." 

I  went.  But  there  was  no  writing  of  importance, 
only  a  letter  or  so,  the  order  having  been  given  me  sim- 
ply to  get  me  to  the  captain's  headquarters. 

"What  was  the  trouble  down  there?"  asked  Captain 
Hopkins. 

"Oh,  nothing  to  speak  about,"  I  replied.  "Only  a 
few  words  between  Ick  and  Mahar.  It  didn't  amount 
to  anything. ' ' 

"Those  fellows  are  always  quarreling  and  fighting, 
are  they  not?"  asked  the  captain. 

"It  doesn't  amount  to  anything,  captain,"  I  replied. 
"They  are  the  best  friends  in  the  world." 

"They  certainly  have  a  strange  way  of  showing  it," 
said  the  captain.  "But  then  they  are  both  pretty  good 
soldiers.  I  don't  suppose  we  can  repress  the  exuberance 
of  such  fellows." 

"Not  unless  you  kill  them,"  I  replied  laughingly. 

"Then  I  guess  we  will  have  to  stand  it,"  replied 
Captain  Hopkins,  "at  least  for  a  while.  The  Lord 
knows  they  may  get  killed  soon  enough." 

"Why,  do  you  think  we  are  likely  to  get  into  another 
fight  soon?"  I  asked,  somewhat  nervously. 

"Not  right  away,"  was  the  reply.  "But  when  we 
do  make  a  start  I  think  it  will  be  something  big.  We 
have  got  "Fighting  Joe"  over  us  now,  and  you  probably 
know  what  that  means.  From  what  I  hear  I  don't 
think  there  will  be  any  more  fighting  till  spring  opens, 
but  when  it  does  happen  it  will  be  a  big  battle,  and  I 
think  a  decisive  one.  I  think  General  Hooker  intends 
that  the  next  fight  shall  settle  the  whole  thing," 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  333 

"But  you  don't  think  this  will  happen  soon?"  I  asked 
again.  I  did  not  like  to  hear  this  matter-of-fact  talk 
about  a  tremendous  battle  that  was  going  to  "settle  the 
whole  thing."  There  was  altogether  too  much  sugges- 
tiveness  about  its  settling  me  at  the  same  time. 

"No,"  replied  the  captain.  "As  I  said  before,  I 
think  we  will  remain  somewhere  about  this  neighbor- 
hood till  the  winter  weather  is  over.  We  have  had  two 
campaigns  this  winter  and  both  have  resulted  disas- 
trously, and  I  don't  think  that  anything  more  of  that 
sort  will  be  attempted.  But  General  Hooker  is  making- 
preparations  and  trying  to  improve  the  army  in  a  man- 
ner that  was  never  tried  before,  and  I  think  his  idea  is 
to  have  it  in  readiness  for  a  supreme  effort." 

"I  suppose  that  you,  being  an  officer,  have  a  chance 
to  hear  all  about  these  things,  captain.  You  know  that 
everything  is  blind  to  us  men.  "We  don't  know  what 
anything  is  for,  but  merely  obey  orders  and  follow  like 
so  many  sheep  wherever  ordered." 

"There  could  be  no  discipline  if  it  were  otherwise," 
replied  the  captain.  "If  the  men  always  knew  where 
they  were  going,  they  would  sometimes  weaken.  It  is 
a  part  of  the  science  of  war  to  make  the  rank  and  file 
as  much  of  a  machine  as  possible.  I  cannot  see  how 
there  could  be  a  successful  army  otherwise." 

"But  I  think  it  would  be  better  if  the  men  did  know 
some  of  these  things  sometimes,"  I  replied.  "I  believe 
that  the  result  would  be  better  and  that  the  men  would 
act  more  willingly  and  do  more  to  carry  out  the  move- 
ment if  they  were  treated  more  as  intelligent  men  in- 
stead of,  as  you  say.  part  of  a  mere  machine." 

"That  is  a  common  idea,"  said  the  captain.  "But  it 
would  not  work.  When  you  get  older  and  have  more 
experience  you  will  understand  this  matter  better  than 
you  do  now.  I  can  see  very  plainly  why  it  is  better  to 
keep  the  rank  and  file  in  as  much  ignorance  as  possi- 
ble." 

"I  think  it  is  cruel — at  least  from  my  standpoint," 
said  I.  When  together  in  the  privacy  of  the  captain's 
tent  we  were  quite  friendly,  and  our  difference  in 
rank  was  forgotten.  The  captain  went  further  in 
this  respect  than  he  probably  would,  because  I  never 


334  THE  TOTING   VOLUNTEER. 

took  advantage  of  it.  I  knew  my  station.  When  I 
was  outside  of  the  tent,  or  when  there  was  any  one  else 
present,  I  was  as  quiet  and  humble  as  the  lowest  soldier 
in  the  company.  This  was  a  trait  that  the  captain 
liked  and  appreciated  and  he  thought  more  of  me  for  it. 
When  we  had  these  little  conversations  we  were 
only  two  American  citizens  on  a  level  footing.  When 
we  were  outside,  I  was  a  private,  he  a  captain. 

"So  you  think  it  is  cruel?"  said  the  captain,  half- 
musingly.  "Well,  perhaps  it  is.  But  tell  me,  Joe,  if 
yon  can,  what  there  is  about  war  that  is  not  cruelty?" 

This  was  a  poser.     War  and  cruelty  are  synonymous. 

"But  you  are  mistaken,"  added  the  captain,  "about 
my  knowing  much  more  about  what  is  going  on  than 
you  do.  Captains  are  kept  in  nearly  as  much  ignorance 
of  general  movements  as  the  men.  Even  the  colonel 
does  not  know  what  is  going  ou  till  he  is  ordered  to  do 
something,  and  all  that  he  has  to  do  is  to  obey  the  order 
without  asking  any  questions.  The  commanding  gen- 
eral and  his  corps  commanders  perhaps  are  the  only  ones 
who  really  know  the  why  and  wherefore  of  everything. 
But  then  some  things  do  leak  out,  nevertheless.  We 
hear  little  things  here  and  there,  and  put  them  together 
and  form  our  own  conclusions,  and  sometimes  they  turn 
out  right — sometimes  not." 

"Then  you  are  only  inferring  from  what  you  see  that 
General  Hooker's  intentions  are  something  like  you 
have  said?" 

"That's  all,  Joe,"  replied  he.  "But  I  guess  you  will 
find  out  that  it  will  come  out  about  that  way.  The 
nest  battle  we  get  into  will  be  one  of  the  hardest  ever 
fought,  but  it  will  not  take  place  till  the  winter  is  en- 
tirely over.     You  may  depend  upon  that." 

For  this  respite  I  felt  grateful,  but  I  did  not  give  the 
captain  any  intimation  of  my  feelings  just  then. 

"Don't  say  anything  to  any  of  the  men  of  what  I 
have  said  to  you,"  said  the  captain,  as  I  turned  to  leave. 

"I  will  not,"  I  said.  "I  think  you  understand  me 
well  enough." 

"I  do,"  was  his  answer.  "Otherwise  I  would  not  be 
so  free  with  yon,  only  a  private." 

"Only  a  private,"  I  repeated  with  a  touch  of  irony. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  335 

"I  never  thought  of  it  before,"  said  Captain  Hopkins. 
"You  deserve  something  better.  Would  you  like  to  be 
a  corporal?" 

A  corporal?  A  non-commissioned  officer?  I  hesi- 
tated at  the  temptation  over  the  possible  promotion. 

"Would  it  deprive  me  of  my  place  as  company  clerk?" 
I  asked. 

"Yes,  I  am  not  allowed  to  detail  a  non-commissioned 
officer  for  that  purpose.  I  can  only  use  a  private  for 
that.  And  I  don't  know  whom  else  I  could  take  that 
Avould  suit  me  as  well,  after  all." 

"How  about  Jimmy  Post?"  I  asked. 

"Post?  He's  a  good  man,  but — but  I'd  rather  have 
you,  for  several  reasons." 

"That  settles  it,  captain,"  said  I.  "I  would  rather 
be  your  secretary  than  wear  the  two  stripes  of  a  cor- 
poral.'' 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  captain.  "That's  compli- 
mentary, and  I'll  not  forget  it." 

"When  I  go  for  anything,  captain,"  said  I,  "it  will 
be  for  something  higher  than  a  corporal."  I  had  cer- 
tain ambitions,  and  I  threw  this  out  as  a  feeler. 

"All  right,"  replied  Captain  Hopkins.  "When  the 
time  comes,  you  can  depend  on  me  for  anything  you 
want. ' ' 

I  left  the  captain's  tent  in  more  than  a  good  humor, 
and  I  remembered  the  captain's  kind  promise  and  months 
afterward  took  advantage  of  it.  He  faithfully  kept  his 
word. 

But  of  that  later.  I  will  say,  however,  that  the  time 
did  come  when  I  did  wear  a  shoulder  strap  and  carry  a 
commission  signed  by  the  President  of  the  United 
States,  and  Captain  Hopkins  was  largely  influential  in 
the  achievement  of  that  much  desired  result. 


336  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 

WHEREIN   GLADSTONE  AND   I  DIFFER. 

It  was  on  the  24th  of  January  when  the  Thirteenth 
Regiment  went  into  camp  at  Fairfax  Court  House,  if 
my  memorandum  of  the  date  is  correct.  A  thickly 
wooded  pine  forest  was  selected  as  the  site  for  the  camp, 
and  there  was  an  abundant  supply  of  water.  It  was  in 
every  respect  as  good  a  place  for  the  camp  as  the  one  we 
had  left  before  the  "mud  march." 

"Well,  John,"  said  I  to  my  pard,  "here  we  are 
again,  and  I  suppose  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  build 
another  house." 

"I  don't  see  much  sense  in  it,  Joe,"  replied  he;  "we 
seem  to  be  doiug  nothing  but  building  houses  and  mov- 
ing out  of  them  again.  As  soon  as  we  get  nicely  settled 
then  along  comes  that  confounded  order  to  fall  in  for  a 
march.  What's  the  use  of  it?  Why  not  make  our- 
selves as  comfortable  as  possible  without  going  to  all 
the  trouble?" 

"Bat  we  are  likely  to  stay  here  now  till  the  winter  is 
over,"  I  replied,  "and  we  might  as  well  make  ourselves 
comfortable." 

"What  makes  you  think  we  will  remain  here  any 
time?"  asked  John. 

"Well,  I  just  think  so,"  I  replied.  I  did  not  want 
to  tell  him  what  Captain  Hopkins  had  told  me  confi- 
dentially, but  I  gave  him  to  understand  that  I  had  good 
reason  to  believe  that  we  would  remain  in  that  camp  for 
a  while. 

"You  do  seem  to  find  out  things  somehow,"  said 
John,  "and  if  you  say  we  are  likely  to  stay  here  for 
a  while  I  will  take  some  stock  in  it.  If  you  say  so  we 
will  begin  on  the  new  house  at  once." 

"I  think  we  had  better,"  was  my  only  response, 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  337 

Butterworth  fell  in  with  my  suggestion.  Somehow  I 
was  always  the  dominant  spirit  of  our  partnership — the 
"head  of  the  house,"  so  to  speak.  We  got  axes  and 
saws  and  started  out  into  the  woods,  where  we  found 
nearly  all  the  other  members  of  the  regiment  engaged 
in  gathering  material  for  the  construction  of  their  primi- 
tive residences. 

It  took  a  couple  of  days  to  complete  our  log  house, 
and  when  done  it  was  the  largest  and  best  that  we  had 
ever  had.  It  was  fortunate  that  we  took  so  much  pains 
with  it,  for,  as  prophesied,  it  was  our  abode  for  a  consid- 
erable time  to  come,  and  we  passed  many  pleasant 
hours  in  it. 

We  had  plenty  to  do  while  in  that  camp  in  a  military 
sense.  There  was  no  end  to  the  drilling  and  other  ma- 
neuvering. I  was  excused  from  company  drill  by  rea- 
son of  being  the  company  clerk,  but  there  was  no  end  of 
regimental  and  brigade  drilling.  The  constant  fear  of 
being  raided  by  the  enemy's  cavalry  made  the  officers 
pay  especial  attention  to  a  peculiar  formation  specially 
intended  as  a  defense  against  attacks  from  that  branch 
of  the  opposing  army. 

This  was  technically  called  "forming  into  a  hollow 
square."  The  title  indicates  the  character  of  the  for- 
mation. The  regiment  was  formed  in  a  square,  four 
deep,  which  made  it  look  like  a  human  fence  around 
a  vacant  lot.  I  said  "vacant,''  but  that  is  hardly  cor- 
rect, for  there  was  something  always  inside  the  square 
■ — the  officers.  The  enlisted  men  formed  the  fence  or 
wall  inside  of  which  the  commissioned  officers  were 
comparatively  secure. 

All  the  rifles  were  equipped  with  bayonets.  The 
outer  edge  of  men  knelt  on  one  knee  and  held  the  rifle 
with  the  bayonet  sticking  cut  at  an  angle  of  about 
forty-five  degrees.  Behind  them,  stood  another  row  of 
men  at  a  charge  bayonet.  This  made  a  double  row  of 
glistening  bayonets  sticking  toward  the  suppositious 
enemy,  like  a  chevaux  cle  frise.  The  two  inner  rows 
of  men  were  there  ready  to  shoot  their  guns  over  the 
heads  of  the  men  in  front. 

These  hollow  squares  were  supposed  to  be  invincible. 
And  so  far  as  an  attack  of  cavalry  was  concerned  they 


338  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

were  practically  so.  No  troop  of  horses  could  stand  or 
run  against  that  array  of  bayonets  if  the  men  only  stood 
to  their  posts.  But  the  trouble  was  that  it  took  some  time 
to  get  the  men  to  understand  this.  When  they  saw  a 
whole  company  of  horsemen  galloping  toward  them, 
the  natural  instinct  was  to  get  out  of  the  way,  and  even 
in  the  practice  attacks  that  we  had  it  was  seldom  that 
the  men  all  stood  their  ground. 

Useful  as  this  precautionary  drill  was,  however,  we 
never  had  occasion  to  use  it  in  actual  warfare.  The 
Thirteenth  Regiment,  so  far  as  I  ever  heard,  never  was 
attacked  by  cavalry  at  a  time  when  they  were  in  a  hol- 
low square. 

Another  drill  that  we  had  was  called  "bayonet  drill." 
This  was  a  pet  scheme  of  Major  Grimes,  who  seemed  to 
always  imagine  that  the  regiment  would  some  time  get 
into  a  hand-to-hand  conflict  with  the  enemy,  and  that  it 
would  be  a  good  thing  to  know  just  exactty  how  to  stick 
the  sharp  end  of  the  bayonet  through  the  enemy's  intes- 
tines, give  it  a  sort  of  corkscrew  twist,  and  then  be 
able  to  complacently  contemplate  the  sight  of  a  rebel 
writhing  in  death  agony  on  the  ground. 

With  that,  the  "guard,"  and  "tierce,"  and  "parry," 
and  other  things,  and  the  jumping  sideways  and  for- 
wards and  backwards,  it  would  be  hard  to  imagine  any 
more  vigorous  sort  of  exercise  than  the  bayonet  drill. 
We  were  put  through  it  day  after  day,  till  every  man 
became  a  sort  of  an  athlete  of  the  high  jumping  variety. 

This  was  only  a  silly  waste  of  time.  Perhaps  every 
regiment  in  the  army  had  to  go  through  the  experiment 
at  one  time  or  another,  but  it  was  finally  dropped  as 
useless.  It  is  unnecessary  to  state  that  very  seldom  did 
the  two  armies  come  close  enough  together  to  indulge 
in  the  interesting  pastime  of  making  holes  in  each 
other's  anatomy.  And  even  if  they  had,  under  the  ex- 
citing circumstances  it  is  not  likely  that  any  man  would 
ever  have  remembered  the  first  thing  about  the  scien- 
tific instructions  he  had  received  in  the  best  way  of 
doing  it. 

The  worst  experience  I  ever  had  while  at  this  place 
was  to  be  detailed  one  day  to  go  out  and  build  a  cordu- 
roy road.     A  corduroy  road  is  made  by  placing  felled 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  339 

trees  side  by  side  along  the  road,  like  the  planking  on  a 
bridge.  This  made  a  pretty  rough  sort  of  a  thorough- 
farefand  the  wagons  went  bumping  over  it  at  a  fearful 
rate',  while  as  for  marching  over  it,  it  was  something- 
terrible.     But  it  was  better  than  deep  mud  at  that. 

Now  I  had  never  cut  down  a  tree  in  my  life.  When 
we  were  building  log  houses  John  Butterworth  did  the 
felling  and  I  helped  in  other  ways.  But  this  day  I  was 
given  an  ax  and  set  to  work  cutting  down  trees. 
3  The  first  two  or  three  went  all  right,  although  I  was 
always  in  a  quandary  as  to  which  way  the  confounded 
thing  was  going  to  fall.  All  that  I  could  do  was  to 
wait  till  it  began  to  move  and  then  scamper  out  of  the 
way.  Some  of  the  fellows  knew  how  to  make  the  tree 
fall  in  any  direction  they  desired,  but  that  was  a  mys- 
tery utterly  beyond  my  comprehension.  My  trees  fell 
whither  they  wisted,  and  they  generally  wisted  to  fall 
in  a  manner  that  threatened  the  life  of  some  of  the  other 
fellows  who  did  not  see  the  thing  coming  in  their  direc- 
tion. 

The  first  two  or  three  were  small  trees,  not  over  six  or 
seven  inches  in  diameter. 

But  then  the  confounded  officer  in  command  of  the 
work  took  it  into  his  head  that  larger  trees  were  indis- 
pensable, and  he  set  me  to  work  on  one  at  least  three 
feet  thick,  a  tremendous  fellow.  It  was  a  tall  pine,  and 
the  wood  seemed  to  be  extraordinarily  hard  and  tough, 
while  my  ax  appeared  to  be  as  dull  as  a  hoe. 

I  contemplated  the  job  with  discouragement,  but  went 
to  work  with  a  will.  I  never  could  see  what  fun  Glad- 
stone could  find  in  cutting  down  trees.  There  isn't 
much  to  amuse  a  man  in  England  if  he  calls  that  fun. 

I  hacked  and  hacked.  I  cut  on  one  side  and  a  while 
on  the  other,  trying  to  see  which  side  of  the  tree  was 
the  softest.  My  hands,  unaccustomed  to  such  work, 
became  covered  with  blisters,  my  arms  and  legs  ached, 
and  the  sweat  poured  from  me  in  a  stream,  notwith- 
standing the  fact  of  its  being  midwinter.  At  the  end 
of  two  hours  I  had  not  succeeded  in  making  more  than 
a  shallow  ridge  in  the  tree,  hardly  enough  to  have  set 
the  sap  running. 

Then  I  gave  up  in  disgust.     I  called  the  sergeant  and 


340  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

told  him  there  was  no  use  of  my  trying  to  cut  down  that 
tree.  I  never  did  such  a  thing  before,  and  told  him 
that  it  would  take  six  months  for  me  to  get  that  tree 
down,  and  I  felt  sure  that  when  it  did  come  down  it 
would  kill  somebody,  for  I  had  no  idea  as  to  which  way 
it  would  fall. 

The  sergeant  took  pity  on  me  and  told  me  to  take  a 
rest.  He  called  another  man,  a  tall  fellow  from  the 
Wisconsin  regiment,  a  backwoodsman  who  had  been 
accustomed  to  that  sort  of  work. 

"Which  way  do  you  want  this  tree  to  fall,  sergeant?" 
he  asked. 

"Right  about  here,"  said  the  non-commissioned 
officer,  marking  the  place  in  the  ground  with  his  foot. 

I  was  filled  with  admiration.  Here  was  a  man  who 
could  not  only  cut  down  a  tree  but  who  could  make  it 
fall  just  where  he  wanted  it  to  fall.  And  he  did  so.  It 
seemed  but  a  few  moments,  with  a  remarkably  few  dex- 
terous blows  with  the  ax,  that  the  tree  was  nearly  cut 
through.  The  wood  seemed  a  good  deal  softer  and  the 
ax  much  sharper  for  that  man  than  it  had  been  for  me, 
somehow. 

Finally  the  tree  wavered,  moved  and  fell.  It  came 
down  almost  exactly  where  the  sergeant  had  marked 
the  place  for  it  to  fall.  This  was  the  difference  between 
a  man  used  to  the  work  of  cutitng  down  a  tree  and  one 
who  had  never  had  any  experience  in  that  sort  of  thing. 
But  I  was  willing  to  bet  a  day's  rations  of  hard-tack 
that  I  could  beat  that  man  setting  type. 

I  didn't  have  to  cut  any  more  trees.  They  set  me  to 
work  helping  to  carry  them  and  at  other  things,  till 
night  came,  and  I  went  back  to  camp  probably  more 
tired  out  and  generally  used  up  than  I  had  ever  been 
before.  I  begged  the  captain  that  he  would  never  let 
me  be  detailed  for  such  a  service  again,  as  I  was  never 
calculated  for  that  kind  of  work.  Captain  Hopkins  did 
not  know  that  I  had  been  sent  to  do  that  sort  of  labor, 
and  he  laughed  at  my  description  of  the  ordeal.  But 
ho  saw  to  it  that  I  never  had  anj'thing  like  it  again,  and 
truth  compels  me  to  state  that  Company  K  escaped  the 
most  of  that  sort  of  menial  labor. 

Of  course  there  came  times,  in  the  face  of  a  battle, 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  341 

when  every  man,  and  sometimes  some  of  the  officers,  had 
to  come  to  the  rescue  and  assist  in  the  hurried  construc- 
tion of  breastworks.  On  such  occasions,  however,  a 
sort  of  feeling  that  it  was  necessary  for  personal  safety 
overcame  the  repugnance  to  such  labor. 

These  things  are  described  because  they  are  legiti- 
mately a  part  of  the  life  of  a  soldier.  The  men  in  the 
army  had  something  else  to  do  besides  shooting  at  the 
enemy  and  reducing  the  number  of  Confederate  soldiers. 

The  paymaster  was  long  a-coming  in  those  days. 
We  were  months  behind  with  our  pay.  The  most  of  us 
had  gone  to  the  fullest  extent  in  running  credit  at  the 
sutler's,  and  we  missed  the  little  luxuries  that  we  had 
been  accustomed  to  get  there.  One  day  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  mysterious  consultation  and  whispering 
around  camp,  which  for  some  time  I  could  not  get  the 
hang  of.  But  after  a  while  the  other  fellows  took  me 
into  their  confidence  and  let  me  into  the  scheme. 

The  sutler  had  just  laid  in  a  new  stock.  His  counters 
were  piled  high  with  all  sorts  of  tempting  dainties.  In 
the  rear  part  of  the  tent  we  even  saw  many  bottles  of 
whiskey  and  other  things  that  made  the  boys'  mouths 
water,  for  "it  had  been  a  long  time  between  drinks." 
Perhaps  had  there  been  plenty  of  it  within  reach  I 
would  never  have  thought  of  such  a  thing,  but  now  that 
it  was  practically  impossible  to  get,  the  more  I  thought 
of  it  the  more  it  seemed  as  if  a  good  horn  of  the  real  old 
stuff  would  be  just  about  the  thing. 

The  scheme  was  nothing  more  or  less  than  to  make  a 
midnight  raid  on  the  sutler's  tent  and  help  ourselves  to 
the  first  things  within  reach. 

Butterworth,  my  pard,  did  not  altogether  approve  of 
the  idea,  but  he  was  overruled,  and  there  were  enough 
of  us  without  him  to  carry  the  thing  through.  The 
plan  was  for  about  twenty  of  us  to  wait  for  a  signal, 
and  simultaneously  sneak  out  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
and  then  raid  the  tent  of  the  sutler.  I'll  admit  that  I 
was  one  of  the  twenty  midnight  prowlers,  and  burglars, 
if  3rou  will.  The  others  were  all  in  it  in  a  secondary 
sense.  That  is,  they  were  to  keep  watch,  give  what- 
ever alarm  might  be  necessary,  and  afterward  partake 
of  the  booty. 


342  THE  TO  UNO    VOLUNTEER. 

Midnight  came,  and  I  quietly  sneaked  out  and  walked 
softly  to  the  sutler's  tent.  I  found  the  others  there  and 
ready  for  the  depredation. 

The  leader  of  the  gang  gave  the  signal,  and  the  attack 
.began. 


THE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER.  343 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

THE   SUTLER  RAIDED. 

The  plan  had  been  to  cut  the  ropes  that  braced  up  the 
tent,  on  all  sides  at  once,  so  that  the  whole  business 
would  come  down  together  and  then  make  the  raid  on 
the  good  thing3  there  concealed. 

Usually  the  sutler  and  hi.;  assistants  slept  in  the  back 
part  of  the  tent  and  we  supposed  that  they  were  there 
this  time.  Our  plan  had  been  to  grab  the  things  and 
hide  them  somewhere  before  the  sutlers  could  extricate 
themselves  from  the  folds  of  the  tent  and  geb  after  us. 
We  had  the  places  all  ready  to  hide  the  articles,  and  we 
were  to  feign  sleep  and  profess  ignorance  of  the  whole 
thing  if  any  officers  came  around  afterward  to  make 
inquiries. 

We  were  destined  to  have  better  luck  than  this,  how- 
ever. For  some  reasons  none  of  the  sutlers  were  asleep 
in  the  tent  that  night.  The  cords  were  cut  simulta- 
neously on  all  sides  and  the  tent  came  down  with  a  flop 
in  a  heap,  just  as  expected.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to 
state  that  what  we  were  after  was  the  whiskey,  or 
"commissary,"  as  it  was  called  then.  We  each  grabbed 
a  bottle  of  the  supposed  whiskey  and  hastened  back  to 
our  log  houses,  hid  the  liquor,  and  fell  asleep  with  a  sud- 
denness that  would  have  surprised  a  hypnotist. 

We  waited  patiently  for  the  expected  alarm,  but  none 
came.  Everything  was  as  quiet  as  usual.  Directly 
some  one  poked  his  head  in  the  door  of  our  house  and 
said  that  there  was  not  a  sign  of  life  around  the  sutler's 
tent,  and  that  we  might  go  and  help  ourselves  to  what- 
ever else  we  wanted.  We  did  so,  and  could  scarcely 
find  room  to  hide  the  purloined  goods. 

Then  we  proceeded  to  sample  the  liquor.  I  didn't 
know  exactly  at  the  time  what  was  in  the  bottle  But- 


344  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

ter worth  and  I  had,  nor  did  we  care,  so  long  as  it  was 
liquor,  but  it  tasted  just  like  the  juice  off  the  mince  pre- 
pared for  a  mince  pie.     It  was  nectar! 

But  the  confounded  thing  flew  to  my  head,  and  that 
was  the  last  I  remembered  till  morning,  when  Orderly 
Sergeant  Van  Orden  stuck  in  his  head  and  asked  how 
it  was  that  we  did  not  turn  out  for  the  morning  roll 
call.  I  got  up  as  best  I  could,  for  my  head  was  spin- 
ning around  like  a  top.  Butterworth  had  evidently 
taken  less,  for  he  was  not  so  badly  affected.  When  we 
got  out  to  the  line  there  were  only  seven  men  there. 
There  should  have  been  some  seventy.  Most  of  the  rest 
were  really  sick.  And  no  wonder,  when  it  is  explained 
that  the  liquor  on  which  we  had  got  boozed  was  Hos- 
tetter's  bitters! 

By  some  bad  luck  the  captain  had  taken  a  notion  that 
morning  to  turn  out  to  see  the  reveille  roll  call,  and  he 
asked  how  it  was  that  the  other  men  had  not  turned  out. 

"I  don't  know,  captain,"  replied  Hank  Van  Orden, 
the  orderly  sergeant.  * '  I  can't  wake  them  up  this  morn- 
ing.    I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  them." 

Captain  Hopkins  stuck  his  head  in  one  log  hut  and 
then  another.     From  both  he  brought  an  empty  bottle. 

"I  guess  this  accounts  for  it,"  said  he.  "What  does 
this  mean,  anyhow?" 

Sergeant  Van  Orden  hadn't  been  let  into  the  racket, 
and  he  was  in  ignorance  of  what  it  did  mean.  He  told 
the  captain  so. 

"The  whole  company's  drunk,"  said  the  captain. 
"Where  did  they  get  the  liquor,  I  would  like  to  know." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  adjutant  came  down. 

"Captain,  are  any  of  your  men  in  this?"  he  asked. 

"In  what?"  asked  Captain  Hopkins. 

"In  this  robbery  of  the  sutler's  tent.  Don't  j-ou  see 
that  it  is  down?  That  isn't  the  worst  of  it.  There  has 
been  a  robber3r.  Nearly  all  the  liquor  there  was  in  the 
tent  has  been  stolen,  as  well  as  some  other  things." 

The  captain  pointed  to  the  two  bottles  that  he  had 
thrown  on  the  ground. 

"That  looks  somewhat  suspicious,  doesn't  it?"  he 
said. 

"The  colonel  will  be  furious  when  he  hears  of  this," 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  345 

said  the  adjutant.  "There's  trouble  ahead  for  all  who 
were  concerned  in  it.  Try  and  find  out  which  of  your 
men  are  implicated. " 

I  began  to  shake  in  my  boots,  but  said  not  a  word. 
I  think  that  I  was  the  last  man  in  the  company  the  cap- 
tain would  have  suspected,  for  I  was  there  all  right  in 
the  line  for  roll  call,  raid  the  captain  knew  that  I  wasn't 
much  of  a  hand  for  liquor  anyway. 

Well,  the  captain  and  orderly  sergeant  made  a  search, 
and  a  partially  emptied  bottle  was  found  in  nearly  every 
tent  or  hut  in  the  company.  The  sutler  must  have  had 
a  big  stock  on  hand,  for  not  only  was  Company  K  con- 
cerned, but  several  of  the  other  companies  had  been  in 
the  scheme,  and  a  similar  discovery  was  made  there 
also. 

Nov/  I  never  knew  how  it  came  out  the  way  it  did, 
but  as  a  matter  of  fact  not  a  single  man  was  punished 
for  that  night's  escapade.  In  the  first  place  it  was 
against  the  rule  for  the  sutlers  to  have  more  liquor  or 
"bitters"  on  hand  than  just  sufficient  to  be  used  for 
medical  purposes,  or  perhaps  an  occasional  little  "blow 
out"  on  the  part  of  the  officers.  Then  the  sutler  we 
had  at  that  time  was  a  mean  sort  of  a  fellow,  a  regular 
Shylock,  who  took  advantage  not  only  of  the  men,  but  of 
the  officers  as  well,  whenever  the  opportunit}'  offered. 
So  he  did  not  have  much  sympathy  as  far  as  that  was 
concerned.  But  be  it  as  it  may,  none  of  us  were  ever 
punished,  and  not  much  was  said  about  the  matter  be- 
yond a  little  "general  order"  on  dress  parade  that  the 
men  should  remember  that  they  should  act  as  law  abid- 
ing citizens  in  the  army  the  same  as  if  they  were  at 
home,  and  that  it  was  as  much  of  a  crime  to  break  into 
a  store  there  and  steal  as  it  was  in  a  city.  This  was 
the  only  hint,  in  an  official  way,  that  we  ever  had  about 
the  matter  and  it  was  the  nearest  that  we  ever  had  to  a 
punishment. 

Indeed  the  result  was  the  other  way,  for  the  next  day 
orders  came  that  the  credit  at  the  sutler's  would  be  ex- 
tended, and  the  door  was  opened  so  that  we  were  able 
to  get  whatever  we  liked  on  the  strength  of  the  credit  of 
future  months'  pay.  So  as  a  matter  of  fact,  instead  of 
being  punished,  we  were  practically  rewarded  for  the 
part  we  had  taken  in  the  robbery  of  the  sutler's  tent. 


346  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

They  say  that  there  are  some  kinds  of  liquor  that  will 
keep  a  fellow  drunk  several  days.  This  must  have  been 
the  sort  that  we  had  on  that  occasion,  for  it  was  several 
days  before  I  fully  • ecovered  from  that  debauch.  I  felt 
heartily  ashamed  of  myself,  not  only  for  that,  but  be- 
cause it  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  been  concerned  in 
what  might  be  called  a  burglary  at  night.  And  it  was 
the  last  time  I  was  ever  guilty  of  such  a  crime.  But 
then  we  were  soldiers,  and  there  are  few  men  who  served 
in  the  army  that  cannot  relate  some  such  experience. 

We  didn't  often  get  the  chance  to  obtain  liquor  while 
in  the  front.  Occasionally  after  great  exposure  it  would 
be  dealt  out  sparingly  to  the  men.  I  remember  one 
occasion. 

It  was  while  we  were  stationed  at  Fairfax  that  we 
went  out  on  one  of  those  mysterious  raids  or  reconnais- 
sances, and  we  had  to  ford  a  creek.  The  water  was  up 
to  our  waists  and  it  was  very  cold. 

It  so  happened  that  we  had  been  much  troubled  with 
the  ^efitiievousj)endi cuius  investimenti  and  the  surgeon 
had  said  that  anguinum,  or  blue  ointment,  was  a  good 
thing  to  kill  the  nits.  We  had  saturated  the  seams  of 
our  clothing  with  this  salve,  which  is  largely  composed 
of  mercury. 

There  is  danger  in  getting  wet  after  using  any  sort  of 
a  mercurial  ointment,  for  the  result  is  salivation.  This, 
judging  from  my  own  personal  experience,  is  one  of  the 
most  horrible  sensations.  The  saliva  runs  from  the 
mouth,  the  eyes  water  and  the  whole  body  aches  ter- 
ribly. 

When  we  laid  ourselves  down  that  night  on  the  wet 
ground,  soaked  to  the  skin  as  we  were,  the  flesh  seemed 
too  soft  to  bear  the  weight  of  one's  bones,  and  one  could 
feel  his  skeleton  from  the  top  of  his  head  to  the  soles  of 
his  feet.  The  sensation  is  simply  horrible.  One  felt  as 
if  he  were  nothing  but  a  skeleton,  and  every  individual 
bone  appeared  to  sink  into  the  soft  flesh  with  a  sicken- 
ing pain. 

It  was  then  that  the  surgeon  ordered  to  be  dispensed 
a  good  ration  of  "commissary,"  and  if  liquor  ever  did 
a  man  good  It  was  then  and  there. 

After  being  at  Fairfax  Station  for  a  while  the  Thir- 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  347 

teenth  Regiment  was  ordered  to  change  camp  and  we 
marched  to  Stafford  Court  House,  a  place  that  enters 
very  largely  into  the  history  of  the  regiment,  for  it  was 
from  that  place  that  we  went  into  the  greatest  engage- 
ment in  which  the  Thirteenth  ever  participated. 


348  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

AN   UNEXPECTED   INVITATION. 

We  were  stationed  at  Stafford  Court  House  from  the 
early  part  of  March  till  near  the  end  of  April,  and  tak- 
ing it  altogether  it  was  the  quietest  time  we  ever  had 
while  in  the  army.  It  was  officially  given  out  that 
there  would  be  no  more  lighting  or  marching  till  the 
spring  fairly  opened ;  and  we  were  in  fact  in  training  for 
the  arduous  campaign  of  1863,  which,  as  all  will  re- 
member, was  the  turning  year  of  the  war.  It  may  be 
truthfully  stated  that  till  the  middle  of  1863  it  was  a 
grave  question  which  would  win,  the  North  or  the  South. 
England  and  other  foreign  countries  had  manifested  a 
strong  sympathy  for  the  Confederacy.  Peace  commis- 
sioners were  endeavoring  to  settle  the  contest  in  a  man- 
ner that  would  have  left  the  South  the  winner.  The 
Confederacy  appeared  to  be  more  desperate  and  deter- 
mined than  ever,  and  throughout  the  North  there  was  a 
feeling  of  despair  and  a  sentiment  that  the  best  thing  to 
do  would  be  to  give  up  the  struggle  before  more  lives 
were  sacrificed. 

But  the  fact  that  the  North  meant  business  was  evi- 
dent from  the  Emancipation  Proclamation  of  President 
Lincoln.  That  settled  all  questions  of  peace.  It  was 
from  that  moment  "a  fight  to  the  finish,"  with  equal 
determination  on  both  sides.  No  one  could  foretell  the 
result.  It  was  an  even  contest  till  Gettysburg,  and 
then  the  tide  turned  in  favor  of  the  North,  although  it 
took  nearly  two  years  after  that  to  finally  suppress  the 
rebellion. 

Many  of  the  men  about  this  time  succeeded  in  obtain- 
ing furloughs.  I  had  the  opportunitjT  to  go  home  for 
ten  days,  but  did  not.     Only  so  many  were  allowed  to 

? 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  349 

each  company,  and  I  gave  up  my  chance  in  favor  of  one 
of  the  men,  who  had  a  sick  wife  at  home. 

I  was  rather  glad  that  I  did  so,  for  all  the  men  came 
back  discouraged,  downhearted  and  despairing.  They 
had  become  imbued  with  the  feeling  of  discouragement 
that  prevailed  at  home,  and  it  was  worse  coming  back 
than  the  original  enlistment,  for  every  soldier,  when 
leaving  home  from  his  furlough,  bade  good-by  to  his 
family  with  the  impression  that  it  was  the  last  time  he 
would  ever  see  them.  For  some  of  them  indeed  it  was 
the  last  time ! 

We  had  not  been  long  at  Stafford  when  several  of  the 
companies  of  the  Thirteenth  were  ordered  on  detached 
service  at  White  House  Landing,  on  Aquia  creek. 
There  was  nothing  but  a  small  dock  there,  where  curi- 
ous little  stern  wheel  steamboats  landed  provisions  from 
Washington.  Our  duties  there  were  to  be  'longshore- 
men or  stevedores,  but  Butterworth  and  I  did  not  go  on 
duty  the  first  day. 

We  spent  the  entire  day  building  a  log  house,  and  by 
night  had  a  fine  one.  But  we  slept  in  it  only  one 
night.  The  next  morning  we  were  ordered  back  to 
camp  and  another  company  took  our  place.  I  never 
knew  why  Company  K  had  been  returned  in  this  man- 
ner. But  I  was  not  sorry  for  it  for  one,  for  the  work 
of  unloading  provisions  from  the  boat  and  placing  them 
in  the  baggage  wagons  was  laborious. 

Many  of  the  men  received  boxes  from  home  contain- 
ing quantities  of  good  things,  and  many  of  them  also 
contained  whiskey.  This  made  some  of  the  men  drunk, 
and  after  that  all  the  boxes  were  inspected  by  the  officers 
before  being  turned  over  to  the  men.  Three  of  the  boxes 
contained  nothing  but  whiskey! 

The  officers  took  charge  of  all  this.  What  they  did 
with  the  liquor  history  does  not  tell,  but  one  might 
guess ! 

Another  discovery  was  made  by  the  inspection  of 
those  boxes.  Fully  one-third  of  them  contained  citi- 
zen's clothes.  It  looked  as  if  one-third  of  the  recipients 
of  favors  from  home  were  making  preparations  to  desert. 
In  fact  there  had  been  a  good  many  desertions  before 
this,,  and  the  officers  wondered  how  the  men  had  sue- 


850  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

ceeded  in  getting  away  without  detection.  This  ex- 
plained the  business.  After  the  wholesale  confiscation 
of  citizens'  clothes  the  desertions  were  materially 
lessened. 

We  had  considerable  fun  in  the  sporting  line  while  at 
Stafford.  Several  times  we  obtained  permission  to  go 
to  Aquia  creek,  where  the  fishing  was  good,  and  we 
caught  many  shad  with  the  most  primitive  sort  of  nets. 
The  greatest  fun,  however,  was  in  shooting  ducks. 

I  never  saw  so  many  wild  ducks  in  my  life.  The 
river  seemed  to  literally  swarm  with  them.  We  had 
no  shot  guns,  nor  even  shot,  for  that  matter,  but  we  got 
around  this  very  nicely  by  cutting  bullets  into  small 
bits  called  "slugs,"  and  shooting  them  from  the  rifles. 
Indeed  Ave  became  quite  expert,  shooting  the  ducks  with 
the  full  sized  bullets,  although  naturally  this  tore  the 
birds  to  pieces  so  that  they  were  practically  useless. 

The  greatest  difficulty  was  in  getting  the  ducks  after 
we  had  shot  them  out  on  the  river.  There  were  no  dogs 
of  course,  and  only  one  small  boat,  a  sort  of  dug-out, 
which  had  to  be  utilized  in  turn  by  the  men.  A  large 
proportion  of  the  ducks  consequently  were  not  recovered, 
out  we  got  enough  for  our  own  use,  and  we  had  duck 
cooked  in  every  possible  and  impossible  style. 

One  of  our  duties  at  Stafford  Court  House  was  to 
erect  a  gigantic  stockade.  What  this  was  for  I  don't 
know.  There  was  no  enemy  anywhere  around  at  the 
time,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  possibility  of  there  ever 
being  an  engagement  in  that  neighborhood.  But  I  pre- 
sume that  the  theory  was  that  if  we  were  kept  busy  we 
would  not  get  into  mischief. 

One  day  while  at  Stafford  Court  House,  Captain 
Hopkins  came  to  me  and  asked  me  if  I  didn't  want  a 
day  off? 

"A  day  off?  What  do  you  mean,  captain?"  asked  I, 
wonderingly. 

"Well,  if  you  do,"  he  replied,  "you  are  at  liberty  to 
go.  Come  to  my  tent  and  I  will  give  you  a  pass.  You 
will  also  find  a  horse  there  for  you." 

A  horse  for  me !     What  could  the  captain  mean? 

However,  I  went  up  to  the  captain's  tent  and  sure 
enough  there  was  a  horse — two  of  them,  in  fact.     Both 


THE  TO  UNO    VOLUNTEER.  351 

were  saddled  and  held  by  a  tall  cavalryman  with  yellow 
trimmed  riding  jacket  and  boots. 

"This  is  Crowell,  orderly,"  said  Captain  Hopkins  by 
way  of  introduction.  The  big  cavalryman  looked  at 
me,  I  imagined  not  with  a  very  high  degree  of  admira- 
tion. And  I  didn't  look  very  pretty.  I  had  not  had 
mjr  hair  cut  in  some  time,  and  looked  like  a  foot  ball 
player.  I  had  been  sleeping  in  the  dirt  so  much  that  I 
presented  anything  but  a  tidy  appearance.  But  then  I 
was  as  well  fixed  as  the  average  soldier. 

"General  Stagg  presents  his  compliments,"  said  the 
orderly,  "and  invites  you  to  come  and  take  dinner  with 
him." 

General  Stagg?  For  a  moment  I  could  not  recall 
who  that  could  be.  Then  I  remembered.  It  was  Peter 
Stagg,  the  brother  of  my  old  companion  in  the  Guar- 
dian office,  John  Stagg,  who  had  enlisted  in  the 
Eleventh  New  Jersey — the  same  John  Stagg  who  is 
to-day  the  chief  of  the  Paterson  Fire*  Department. 

I  remembered  that  Peter,  who  was  also  a  Paterson 
boy,  had  moved  to  Michigan  when  he  was  married,  and 
knew  that  he  had  entered  the  service  as  a  captain  in  the 
First  Michigan  Cavalry,  but  I  had  not  heard  that  he 
had  become  a  general. 

"Do  you  mean  Peter  Stagg,  of  the  First  Michigan 
Cavalry?"  I  asked  the  orderly. 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "He  was  our  colonel.  He 
has  been  promoted  to  brigadier-general.  He  sent  me 
over  to  bring  you  to  our  camp  and  have  dinner  with 
him." 

"Well,  well,"  said  I,  in  amazement,  "and  so  Peter 
Stagg's  a  general.  And  he  wants  me  to  come  to  take 
dinner  with  him.  Well,  well!"  I  couldn't  get  over 
the  surprise. 

"Yes,"  said  the  orderly,  "and  he  sent  his  horse  over 
for  you  to  ride.     This  is  the  critter." 

I  looked  at  the  horse.  I  hadn't  particularly  noticed 
the  animal  before,  for  I  was  so  astonished  that  Peter 
Stagg  had  become  a  general  (and  by  the  way  he  was  the 
only  Paterson  boy  that  ever  did  become  a  general),  that 
I  hadn't  noticed  anything.  But  when  I  saw  that  horse 
I  was  struck  with  terror. 


352  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

I  never  had  much  experience  riding  horseback.  Tak- 
ing my  father's  docile  old  nag  to  water  was  about  the 
extent  of  my  experience  in  that  direction.  But  here 
before  me  was  a  big  black  stallion,  that  looked  as  if  he 
could  only  be  ridden  by  a  Buffalo  Bill  or  a  cowboy.  I 
confess  that  I  weakened.  But  I  didn't  want  to  let  the 
cavalryman  think  I  was  afraid. 

"Say,  pard,''  said  I  familiarly — and  my  familiar 
tone  at  once  put  me  on  good  terms  with  my  to-be-escort 
— "I  am  a  pretty  looking  fellow  to  take  dinner  with  a 
general  of  cavalry,  am  I  not?  I  look  as  if  I  ought  to 
go  to  the  barber's  and  tailor's  before  I  tackle  anything 
like  that.     I  think  I  had  better  send  my  regrets." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  the  orderly.  "You're  all 
right.  Besides,  the  general  said  that  I  must  insist  on 
your  coming  if  you  could  get  away,  and  the  captain 
here  says  that's  all  right.  So  come  along.  Here's 
your  horse." 

Again  I  looked  at  the  skittish  looking  stallion.  Then 
I  looked  at  the  tamer  looking  animal  of  the  orderly, 
which  I  could  distinguish  was  a  private  soldier's  steed 
from  the  comparative  plainness  of  its  trappings. 

"Hadn't  I  better  ride  your  horse,  orderly?"  I  asked. 
"He  looks  less  frisky.  This  stallion  here  will  break 
my  neck." 

"No,"  replied  the  orderly,  "you  take  the  general's 
critter.  He  is  as  gentle  as  a  kitten.  You  couldn't  ride 
mine.  He  is  a  bucker  and  would  throw  you  off  before 
you  got  half  a  mile  on  the  way. ' ' 

"How  far  is  General  Stagg's  camp  from  here?"  I 
asked. 

"About  twelve  miles.  It  is  straight  across  the  coun- 
try. We  don't  follow  the  road,  but  cut  across  lots.  It's 
a  good  route  and  a  pleasant  ride.  You  will  enjoy  it,  I'm 
sure." 

"I  will  if  that  horse  doesn't  break  my  neck,"  said  I, 
"but  I  suppose  I  will  have  to  tackle  it." 

The  boys  had  begun  to  gather  around,  wondering 
what  was  going  on.  Some  of  them  envied  me  the 
chance  of  the  trip.  Others  I  thought  regarded  me  with 
admiration  on  account  of  having  been  honored  with  an 
invitation  to  dine  with  a  general.  But  Stansfield  took 
the  starch  out  of  me  with  the  remark  he  made. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER,  353 

"Say,  Joe,"  said  he,  "if  you  get  back  alive  from  your 
ride  on  that  horse  you're  a  lucky  cuss.  I  wouldn't  get 
on  that  stallion's  back  for  a  farm." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  afraid,"  I  replied,  jauntily.  But  I 
lied;  I  was  scared  to  death.  I  nearly  fell  off  with 
trembling. 

We  started  on  our  ride,  and  to  tell  the  truth  I  never 
expected  to  survive  the  journey. 


35-i  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LXVL 

I  DINE  WITH   THE   GENERAL. 

I  hadn't  ridden  far,  however,  on  General  Stagg's 
stallion  before  I  began  to  feel  perfect  confidence.  A 
nicer  saddle  horse  no  man  ever  strode.  But  I  had  to 
take  some  instructions  before  I  knew  how  to  guide  the 
animal. 

When  I  pulled  the  right  hand  rein  he  turned  to  the 
left,  and  vice  versd.  Either  the  horse  or  I  had  lost  the 
compass. 

"That  horse  is  trained  for  the  cavalry  service,"  said 
the  orderly,  "and  you  have  to  handle  him  a  little  differ- 
ent from  what  you  would  a  farm  horse.  Just  hold  the 
reins  together  in  the  left  hand.  When  you  want  to 
turn  to  the  right,  hold  your  hand  over  to  the  right. 
That  presses  the  bridle  reins  against  the  left  side  of  the 
horse  and  makes  him  go  to  the  right.  When  jtou  want  to 
go  to  the  left  you  hold  the  hand  o  t'er  to  the  left,  so  that 
the  rein  presses  on  the  right  side. ' ' 

"Then,"  said  I,  "you  really  pull  the  left  side  of  his 
bit  to  make  him  go  to  the  right,  and  the  right  side  of 
his  bit  to  turn  to  the  left.     Is  that  it?" 

"I  s'pose  it  is,"  replied  my  escort.  "But  cavalrymen 
don't  pay  any  attention  to  the  bit.  They  drive  by 
the  rein.  The  right  hand  is  supposed  to  be  busy  with 
carbine  or  saber,  and  only  the  left  is  used  in  guiding  the 
critter.  Now  if  you  want  him  to  lope,  give  a  couple  of 
quick  jerks  upward,  and  if  he  is  loping  and  you  want  a 
gallop,  jab  in  the  spurs." 

I  hadn't  put  on  the  spurs,  however.  Nothing  could 
induce  me  to  do  that,  or  I  would  have  had  the  horse 
running  away  in  short  order.  Loping  was  rapid  enough 
for  me. 


THE  YOUNQ   VOLUNTEEE.  356 

"If  you  want  to  bring  him  to  a  walk  again,"  con- 
tinued the  orderly,  going  on  with  his  equestrian  instruc- 
tions, "just  pull  gently  on  the  reins,  and  a  good  hard 
pull  will  bring  him  to  a  standstill.  That's  the  way  to 
drive  the  critter  with  the  bridle.  But  generally  we  do 
it  with  our  knees." 

"With  your  knees?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  we  don't  bother  much  with  the  bridle,  for  often 
we  have  both  hands  busy  in  a  scrimmage.  When  you 
want  to  start,  give  a  'cluck.'  When  you  want  the  horse 
to  lope,  press  the  two  knees  against  his  withers  two  or 
three  times,  sharply.  Do  it  again  if  you  want  him  to 
gallop.  If  you  want  him  to  turn  to  the  right,  press  the 
left  knee  only.  If  to  the  left,  press  the  right  knee.  If 
you  want  to  stop,  press  both  knees  hard." 

I  went  through  all  these  things  and  the  noble  animal 
obeyed  like  a  child — a  good  deal  better  than  some  chil- 
dren, by  the  way.  I  never  rode,  before  nor  since,  such 
a  well  trained  animal.  Riding  him  was  like  sitting  in 
a  rocking-chair.  I  was  delighted  with  the  experience, 
for  it  was  not  long  before  I  had  perfect  confidence 
restored,  and  felt  as  self-possessed  as  if  I  had  been  rid- 
ing horseback  all  my  life. 

But  I  was  not  altogether  self  possessed  for  another 
reason.  I  was  overcome  with  the  idea  of  being  tho 
guest  of  a  general  officer.  Only  those  who  have  been  in 
the  army  can  appreciate  the  vast  gulf  that  exists  be- 
tween a  private  and  a  brigadier-general. 

And  a  brigadier-general  of  cavalry  was  more  than  a 
brigadier-general  of  infantry.  In  army  etiquette  and 
precedence  the  cavalry  general  comes  ahead  of  the  in- 
fantry general.  And  then  a  brigade  of  cavalry  is  as 
big,  so  far  as  the  ground  it  covers  is  concerned  and  its 
military  importance  and  pomp,  as  a  whole  corps  of  in- 
fantry. There  was  a  peculiar  dash  and  show  about  a 
high  cavalry  officer  that  no  infantry  commander  ever 
attained.  And  yet,  all  the  way,  I  couldn't  help  repeat- 
ing to  myself,  "Pete  Stagg  a  brigadier -general !  Pete 
Stagg  a  general?"  And  the  last  time  I  saw  him  he  was 
working  at  his  trade  in  the  locomotive  works,  if  I  re- 
membered correctly. 

After  a  pleasant  ride  of  twelve  or  fifteen  miles,  the 


356  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

camp  of  the  cavalry  brigade  commanded  by  General 
Peter  Stagg  loomed  into  sight. 

General  Stagg's  headquarters  were  quite  pretentious. 
Instead  <  f  a  tent  it  was  a  good  sized  barrack  made  of 
rough  boards,  the  cracks  between  which  were  slatted  so 
that  it  afforded  perfect  protection  from  the  weather. 
The  general's  brigade  was  in  winter  quarters  and  it  was 
the  most  comfortable  and  complete  thing  of  the  sort  I 
ever  saw  in  the  front. 

The  general  came  to  the  doorway  of  his  house  as  [ 
rode  up,  and  greeted  me  cordially.  Had  I  also  been  a 
brigadier-general  there  could  not  have  been  a  warmer 
or  more  friendly  welcome.  I  must  confess  that  I  felt  a 
little  ashamed.  I  was  only  a  private,  with  all  that  im- 
plied, and  my  clothing  was  not  very  creditable  for  even 
a  private. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  general,  who  had  just  been 
superintending  some  maneuver,  was  in  full  uniform,  as 
bright  and  spick  as  a  militia  officer,  and  there  was  a 
dash  and  vivacity  about  his  manner  that  was  altogether 
different  from  the  plain  mechanic  I  had  remembered  in 
Paterson.  He  was  surrounded  by  a  glittering  staff  of 
colonels  and  majors  and  captains,  and  the  scene  was  so 
dazzling  that  I  felt  extremely  abashed,  to  say  the  least. 

But  the  cordiality  manifested  from  him  of  the  star  to 
the  stripeless  private  was  so  hearty,  and  the  consequent 
attitude  of  the  officers  around  him  so  condescending,  as 
I  was  introduced  as  "My  old  friend,  Crowell,"  by  the 
general,  that  I  &oon  felt  at  home,  and  for  the  time  being 
forgot  altogether  the  difference  between  our  ranks. 

I  do  not  altogether  remember  the  details  of  that  day's 
visit.  I  do  remember,  however,  that  we  had  a  good 
dinner — wonderfully  good  considering  the  place  and  cir- 
cumstances— and  I  was  filled  with  wonder  as  to  where 
they  had  got  all  the  provisions  and  delicacies  that  made 
up  the  menu.  The  wind-up  of  the  dinner  was  a  sort  of 
punch  that  was  very  palatable,  but  which  for  a  few  mo- 
ments made  my  head  swim.  That  dinner  impressed 
me  strongly  as  to  the  difference  between  the  lobscouse 
of  the  high  privates  and  the  tempting  lay-out  of  the 
general  officers.  All  the  while  I  felt  my  subordinate 
position  keenly,  although  I  tried  my  best  to  put  my 
brightest  and  most  nonchalant  side  forward. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  057 

We  lingered  long  at  the  table,  which,  by  the  way,  was 
spread  in  a  large  barrack  back  of  the  general's  head- 
quarters, and  in  which  all  the  officers  participated. 
And  many  were  the  stories  and  experiences  related, 
which  gave  an  interesting  insight  to  the  exciting  and 
dangerous  life  of  a  cavalryman.  Of  the  stories  told,  I 
particularly  remember  one.  It  was  by  the  general  him- 
self: 

"It  was  down  on  the  retreat  from  the  Peninsula," 
said  he,  "when  we  were  halting  as  if  uncertain  whether 
we  should  continue  toward  Washington,  or  go  back 
toward  Richmond,  that  we  stopped  on  the  way  for  a  few 
days.  I  met  an  old  friend  of  mine  from  another  Michi- 
gan regiment,  of  which  he  was  the  colonel,  and  invited 
him  to  dinner.  Now  it  happened  that  we  were  rather 
short  of  rations  just  then,  and  it  was  hard  to  get  any- 
thing out  of  the  usual  line  of  provisions.  The  worst  of 
it  all  was  that  we  had  run  out  of  pork  entirely. 

"But,"  continued  the  general,  "my  cook  had  some- 
how managed  to  get  hold  of  a  couple  of  good  cabbages. 
This  was  something  so  unusual  that  I  thought  a  cab- 
bage and  pork  dinner  would  be  an  acceptable  novelty 
to  my  guest.  When  it  was  served  there  were  only 
three  or  four  thin  slices  of  pork,  which  were  spread 
around  the  sides  of  the  dish  of  cabbage,  as  a  sort  of 
garnishment.  It  made  it  look  very  tempting.  I  won- 
dered where  Nick  had  got  that  pork,  but  said  nothing. 

"There  were  half  a  dozen  or  so  officers  at  the  mess 
that  day;  when  each  one  was  asked  if  he  would  have  a 
piece  of  pork,  he  saw  what  a  small  supply  there  was 
and  politely  answered  no.  So  there  was  not  a  mouthful 
of  the  pork  eaten.  The  party  seemed  so  delighted  with 
the  cabbage  that  they  were  satisfied.  The  dinner  was 
a  success,  and  all  expressed  themselves  as  pleased  with 
having  had  the  opportunity  of  partaking  of  a  dish  which 
they  had  not  seen  for  many  a  day. 

"I  saw  the  cook  remove  the  pork  from  the  table  with 
some  satisfaction,  for  I  thought  that  would  come  in 
good  for  breakfast  in  the  morning.  But  when  break- 
fast came,  I  looked  in  vain  for  the  pork.  I  asked  the 
cook  what  he  had  done  with  it. 

"  'Say,  Nick,'  said  I,  'where  is  that  pork  that  was 


358  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

left  over  from  dinner?  I  might  as  well  have  it  for 
breakfast.  We  have  not  had  meat  for  so  long  that  I 
am  hungry  for  some.' 

"The  darkey  hesitated  in  making  reply,  and  seemed 
strangely  nonplussed.  But  I  insisted  on  an  answer.  I 
began  to  suspect  that  the  confounded  nigger  had  eaten 
the  pork  himself. 

"  'Ex-ex-excuse  me,  massa,  I  done  gone  take  dat  po'k 
back  again. ' 

"  'Took  the  pork  back  again?'  I  asked,  'what  do  you 
mean  by  that?' 

"  'Well,  you  know,  massa,  dat  dere  was  no  po'k  in 
de  com'sarry,  an'  I  done  gone  an'  borrid  et.' 

"  'Borrowed  it?' 

"  'Yes,  massa,  I  borrid  dot  po'k  from  Cap'n  Wilkins, 
ob  de  Fust  Ill'noy,  an'  when  you'ns  were  through  I 
done  tuk  et  back  again.  Dis  nigger  only  clone  borrid 
et.     I  tole  de  cap'n  so  when  I  done  got  it.' 

"  'That  was  a  risky  thing  to  do,  Nick,'  I  told  him. 
'Now  suppose  we  had  eaten  that  pork,  where  would  you 
have  been?    You  couldn't  have  taken  it  back  then?' 

"  'Yous  cawn't  fool  dis  nigger,  gen'ral,'  replied  the 
confounded  darkey.  'I  done  know'd  better.  I  know'd 
that  when  gen'lmens  dine,  an'  dar's  only  a  little  bit  ob 
ennythin',  dey  nebber  teches  et.  I  done  know'd  et.  I 
done  know'd  it  wouldn't  be  teched.  I  know'd  I  cud 
took  dat  po'k  all  backag'in,  widout  a  brack  in  de  skin.' 

"And  so  it  was.  The  shrewd  darkey  had  waited  on 
tables  long  enough  to  know  that  when  there  is  very 
little  of  anything  on  a  dish  at  dinner  none  of  the  guests 
is  likely  to  touch  it,  out  of  politeness.  But  it  struck 
me  that  it  was  a  mighty  big  risk  to  run,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances." 

After  dinner  we  sat  and  smoked  and  talked  about 
Paterson  and  things  at  home  till  the  time  for  the  after- 
noon dress  parade.  Here  I  was  given  a  horse  and  ac- 
companied the  general  as  an  orderly,  and  as  there  were 
two  or  three  other  privates  mounted  in  that  capacity,  I 
did  not  feel  much  abashed.  But  they  had  given  me 
another  horse,  which  was  not  as  good  a  one  as  the  gen- 
eral's, and  when  the  staff  galloped  along  the  line  with 
me  following  them,  I  had  a  difficult  job  to  hang  fast  to 
the  saddle. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  359 

Escorted  by  the  orderly  who  had  come  for  me  in  the 
morning,  I  rode  back  to  the  camp  of  the  Thirteenth  lato 
in  the  afternoon,  after  having  had  a  most  enjoyable  day, 
and  passed  through  an  experience  not  often  allotted  to  a 
private  soldier.  The  distinction  of  having  been  invited 
to  dinner  with  a  general  also  set  me  up  a  peg  or  so  in 
the  opinion  of  my  companions.  No  civilian  can  fully 
appreciate  the  influence  of  little  things  like  this. 

En  passant,  speaking  of  General  Stagg,  reminds  me 
that  his  brother  John,  who  originally  enlisted  in  the 
Eleventh  New  Jersey  Infantry,  was  later  in  the  war 
promoted  to  a  lieutenancy  in  the  First  Michigan  Cav- 
alry and  served  as  an  aid-de-camp  on  General  Stagg's 
staff.  As  before  said,  John  is  now  a  sort  of  general 
himself,  being  in  command  of  the  Paterson  Fire  De- 
partment. 

From  that  time  on,  till  the  end  of  the  war,  I  always 
remembered  Peter  Stagg  as  the  dashing  cavalry  general 
surrounded  by  a  brilliant  array  of  staff  officers.  The 
picture  was,  as  it  were,  photographed  on  my  memory. 

Great  was  the  shock,  therefore,  when  I  next  visited 
him.  I  had  remained  in  the  service  for  a  year  or  so 
after  the  war  was  ended  on  special  service  in  the  Freed- 
men's  Bureau.  But  the  main  portion  of  the  army  had 
returned  to  their  homes  and  settled  down  to  the  routine 
of  citizens'  lives. 

Great  was  my  surprise,  I  say,  when  I  saw  Peter 
Stagg.  He  had  opened  a  little  grocery  store  on  Main 
Street,  and  there  I  called. 

"Is  the  general  in?"  I  asked. 

"The  what?"  inquired  the  half -grown  lad  I  had  ad- 
dressed. 

"The  general,"  I  repeated.     "General  Stagg?" 

"Oh,  it's  Pete,  you  mean.  Yes,  he's  in  the  back  part 
of  the  store,  waiting  on  a  customer." 

And  there  I  found  General  Stagg,  wearing  a  long 
grocer's  apron,  and  measuring  out  a  quart  of  kerosene 
for  a  woman ! 

The  transformation  from  the  picture  in  mind  to  the 
reality  before  me,  nearly  knocked  me  over.  But  it  was 
the  same  welcome,  the  same  hearty  manner.  Peter 
Stagg  was  the  same  whether  in  a  general's  uniform  or 
in  a  grocer's  apron. 


360  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

"Bank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp, 
A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that," 

said  Robby  Burns ,  but  still,  I  fain  would  repeat,  the 
change  was  startling. 

And  when  I  went  down  the  street,  whom  did  I  meet 
but  Captain  Scott,  my  old  company  commander,  stand- 
ing on  the  corner  of  Broadway,  yelling  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  peddling  whips! 

As  for  myself,  1  went  back  to  the  Guardian  office  to 
set  ty  pe ! 

But  there  were  many  exciting  scenes  to  pass  through 
between  the  time  I  took  that  dinner  with  General  Stagg 
and  the  time  I  next  had  a  composing  stick  in  my  hand. 
The  most  terrible  scenes  and  experiences  were  yet  to 
come.     And  I  am  getting  close  upon  them ! 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  661 


CHAPTER  LXVII. 

AGAIN  WE    START. 

It  was  the  purpose  of  the  author  in  writing  this  story 
to  present  some  idea  of  the  daily  life  and  experience  of 
a  private  soldier.  It  was  to  give  an  inside  history  of 
real  army  life  in  war  times,  rather  than  follow  the 
stilted  route  of  maneuvers,  movements,  engagements 
and  statistics.  As  said  earlier  in  the  story,  the  experi- 
ences and  services  of  the  Thirteenth  New  Jersey  merely 
formed  the  thread  on  which  [the  incidents  were  strung. 

And  yet  the  truth  as  to  dates  and  names  has  been 
adhered  to,  so  that  to  the  extent  to  which  this  is  carried, 
it  is  practically  a  history  of  the  regiment  to  which  the 
writer  belonged.  The  further  history  of  the  detailed 
incidents  of  the  campaign  and  individual  experiences, 
however,  would  be  largely  repetitive  of  what  has  already 
been  described,  and  henceforth  only  new  experiences 
will  be  detailed,  those  similar  to  what  have  already 
been  described  being  cursorily  referred  to. 

There  still  remain,  however,  some  novel  incidents  and 
adventures  to  be  described,  and  some  scenes  more  ter- 
rible than  [anything  yet  presented  to  the  reader,  and  it 
will  consequently  be  to  the  advantage  and  interest  of 
the  latter  to  patiently  pursue  the  story  to  the  end. 

I  interpolate  these  remarks  here,  because  it  is  an  ap- 
propriate place.  The  Thirteenth  Regiment  at  this  par- 
ticular time  was  going  through  the  most  inactive  period 
of  its  entire  experience.  Never  before  and  never  after- 
ward did  it  have  such  a  long  rest  as  at  Stafford  Court 
House. 

Yet  we  were  not  entirely  idle,  for  the  ordinary  duties 
of  a  soldier  do  not  leave  much  time,  whether  it  be  in 
camp  or  on  the  march.  The  term  "idleness"  is  only 
comparative,  when  mentioned  in  connection  with  a 
soldier. 


$e%  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

I  remember  one  incident  of  a  personal  nature.  I 
heard  that  my  Uncle  David,  a  lieutenant  in  the  Thirty- 
fifth  New  Jersey,  was  at  Aquia  creek,  and  obtained  a 
pass  to  go  and  see  him.  It  involved  a  walk  of  five  or 
six  miles  through  the  thickest  and  deepest  mud.  When 
I  reached  his  camp,  my  trousers  were  besmeared  to  the 
knees  and  my  shoes  were  filled  with  the  red  pigment. 
My  uncle  went  to  the  sutler's  and  presented  me  with  a 
nine  dollar  pair  of  boots,  coming  to  the  knees.  They 
were  admirable  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  out  the  mud, 
and  I  was  heartily  pleased  with  the  present. 

My  uncle  probably  never  knew  what  became  of  those 
boots.  On  the  next  march  they  hurt  my  feet  so  that  I 
temporarily  traded  them  with  Cornelius  Mersereau,  one 
of  my  companions,  for  a  pair  of  English  shoes  that  had 
been  captured  from  a  blockade  runner,  bound  for  the 
Confederacy.  There  is  no  use  talking,  nothing  is  as 
good  as  low,  flat,  broad  soled  shoes  for  marching. 

But  I  only  intended  the  exchange  to  be  temporary, 
till  after  we  had  concluded  the  march.  Alas,  Mersereau 
was  killed  in  the  next  battle,  and  his  feet  swelled  so 
that  I  could  not  pull  off  the  boots,  and  they  were  buried 
with  hirn  at  Chancel  lorsville.  Of  that,  later.  Mer- 
sereau's  name  is  carved  on  the  base  of  the  soldiers' 
monument  at  the  falls  in  Paterson.  The  boots  are  ab- 
sorbed by  the  soil  of  Virignia,  somewhere. 

It  was  just  about  this  time  that  there  were  numerous 
changes  among  the  officers  in  consequence  of  the  resigna- 
tions and  consequent  promotions.  Lieutenant  Colonel 
Swords,  who,  despite  his  name,  was  a  peaceably  dis- 
posed man,  resigned.  Captain  John  Grimes  was  pro- 
moted from  captain  to  major.  But  the  greatest  sensa- 
tion was  caused  by  the  promotion  of  Private  Franklin 
Murph}',  of  Company  D,  to  the  position  of  second  lieu- 
tenant. As  said  before  somewhere  the  promotion  of  a 
private  over  the  heads  of  the  sergeants  and  others  in  the 
direct  line  of  promotion,  always  created  a  sensation  and 
not  a  little  indignation  over  what  was  esteemed  a  sense 
of  injustice.  As  a  general  rule,  it  indicated  a  "pull" 
somewhere  that  was  not  popular  among  those  con- 
cerned. 

There  was  consequently  not  a  little  kicking  at  first 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  363 

when  Murphy  made  his  rirst  appearance  on  parade 
ground  in  a  brand  new  uniform  of  a  commissioned 
officer.  But  he  proved  such  a  kind-hearted  officer,  and 
seemed  disposed  to  put  on  so  few  airs,  that  this  feeling 
soon  wore  off,  and  Frank  Murphy  became  one  of  the 
most  popular  officers  of  the  regiment. 

I  refer  to  him  particularly,  because  this  Frank  Mur- 
phy has  become  one  of  the  most  prominent  men  in  the 
State  of  New  Jersey.  His  name  was  mentioned  re- 
cently in  connection  with  the  office  of  United  States 
Senator,  and  he  was  also  spoken  of  as  a  candidate  for 
Governor  of  New  Jersey  in  1895.  This  is  the  same 
Franklin  Murphy. 

Along  about  the  middle  of  April  (this  was  in  1863, 
remember),  we  received  word  that  the  army  was  about 
to  be  honored  with  another  visit  from  President  Lin- 
coln. The  other  parts  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  had 
been  reviewed,  and  this  demonstration  included  the 
Twelfth  Corps,  under  command  of  General  Slocum, 
only.  The  review  was  a  grand  success  and  a  magnifi- 
cent sight. 

The  corps  included  about  twenty  thousand  men,  com- 
prising all  branches  of  the  service.  It  marched  to  a 
large  field  about  four  miles  from  camp,  and  there  went 
through  all  the  evolutions  incident  to  such  an  occasion. 

The  army  was  never  in  better  condition  than  at  the 
present  time.  The  men  had  had  a  good  rest,  for  some 
time  the  rations  had  been  plenty  and  good,  and  all  the 
regiments  had  been  perfected  in  their  drill.  In  fact  the 
army  was  recuperated,  fresh,  and  in  magnificent  shape 
for  the  beginning  of  the  campaign  which  we  all  antici- 
pated as  soon  as  the  spring  fairly  opened.  The  long- 
rest  had  put  everybody  in  good  condition  bodily,  and 
every  man's  spirits  were  proportionately  buoyant. 

While  we  all  knew  that  there  was  arduous  marching 
and  hard  fighting  in  store  for  us,  yet  no  one  felt  down- 
cast or  discouraged.  In  fact,  I  might  almost  say  that 
every  man  was  eager  for  the  frajr.  The  desire  to  get 
into  something  active  and  less  monotonous  was  uni- 
versal. 

Even  our  old,  and  for  sometime  forgotten,  friend 
John  Ick,  prated  not  of  "slaughter  houses"  and  mani- 


364  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

fested  such  a  desire  to  get  started  at  something  that  he 
actually  excited  the  admiration  of  Reddy  Mahar. 
Without  exception,  I  think  I  am  safe  in  saying,  the 
entire  army  was  desirous  of  being  "on  the  move." 

It  was  not  my  luck  at  this  last  review  in  which  Presi- 
dent Lincoln  participated  to  get  anywhere  near  him.  I 
was  in  the  ranks  while  he  rode  down  and  around  the 
line,  and  afterward  marched  past  him  in  the  review, 
but  only  got  a  somewhat  distant  glimpse  of  one  I  had 
almost  come  to  regard  as  a  personal  friend. 

I  imagined,  from  what  I  saw  of  him,  that  he  looked 
more  gaunt  and  careworn  than  ever.  It  may  have  been 
imagination,  but  every  succeeding  time  that  I  saw  Presi- 
dent Lincoln  the  more  did  he  appear  to  me  to  be  aging. 
And  now  that  we  can  more  fully  appreciate  what  he 
had  to  go  through,  how  could  it  have  been  otherwise? 

Just  about  this  time,  the  surgeon  of  the  Thirteenth, 
Dr.  J.  J.  H.  Love,  was  promoted  to  the  position  of  bri- 
gade surgeon -in-chief.  This  took  him  away  from  our 
immediate  vicinity,  greatly  to  our  regret,  for  every  sol- 
dier revered  Dr.  Love.  He  was,  until  his  recent  death, 
a  highly  respected  citizen  of  Montclair,  and  held  in 
great  esteem  far  beyond  the  limits  of  that  picturesque 
New  Jersey  town. 

But  at  last  the  expected  order  to  move  was  received. 
We  were  suppled  with  sixty  rounds  of  ammunition  per 
man. 

That  meant  business! 

The  usual  quantity  carried  by  the  soldier  was  about 
forty  rounds.  Sixty  was  never  given  out  except  on  the 
eve  of  an  expected  battle  of  more  than  ordinary  dimen- 
sions and  importance.  We  were  also  directed  to  dispose 
of  every  superfluous  article,  and  place  ourselves  in 
marching  order  in  the  fullest  meaning  of  the  word.  We 
were  "in  it"  now  for  fair. 

On  the  14th  of  April  came  the  order,  "Fall  in,  Thir- 
teenth," and  after  the  usual  preliminary  preparations, 
bustle  and  excitement,  we  started  off — many  never  to 
return. 

Little  did  we  know  then — and  perhaps  it  is  better 
that  we  did  not — that  in  a  short  time  the  Thirteenth 
Regiment  would  be  back  in  that  very  camp,  with  deci. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  365 

mated  numbers,  torn  and  shattered,  after  having  passed 
through  one  of  the  bloodiest  conflicts,  one  of  the  most 
disastrous  repulses  of  the  whole  war — the  engagement 
that  has  gone  into  history  as  "  The  Battle  of  Chancel- 
lorsville!" 


m  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LXVII. 

"men  that  ain't  afraid  op  hell." 

On  to  Chancellorsville ! 

Now  for  a  battle  that  was  doubtless  one  of  the  bloodi- 
est and  most  disastrous  of  the  war.  And  yet  the  Union 
army  never  started  into  a  campaign  more  confident  of 
success.  Little  did  anj'body  apprehend  that  it  was  to  be 
the  most  terrible  repulse  ever  sustained  by  the  armies  of 
the  North ! 

The  army  was  in  magnificent  shape.  The  discipline 
was  perfect.  General  Hooker  had  won  the  confidence 
and  esteem  of  every  man  under  his  command,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest.  The  spirit  of  his  dash  and  vigor- 
had  permeated  rank  and  file,  line  and  staff,  and  the  sol- 
diers believed  themselves  part  of  an  army  that  was  in 
vincible,  under  a  commander  who  was  unconquerable. 

Colonel  T.  H.  Ruger,  the  lighting  commander  of  the 
Third  Wisconsin,  had  been  promoted  to  brigadier  gen- 
eral, and  was  in  consequence  our  immediate  command- 
ing general.  We  had  as  much  faith  in  him  as  a  brigade 
commander  as  the  army  had  in  Hooker  as  the  grand 
commander.  The  men  had  had  a  good  rest,  they  were 
in  fine  condition  physically  and  full  of  fight  and  spirit, 

The  sentiment  was  universal  that  the  rebellion  was 
about  to  be  quenched,  and  that  the  coming  battle  would 
be  the  settler. 

That  it  was  going  to  be  a  terrible  conflict  was  evident 
to  everybody  from  the  extensive  and  complete  character 
of  the  preparations.  It  is  unnecessary  to  go  into  all  of 
the  details  in  this  respect.  But  it  is  significant  to 
remark  that  soldiers  were  served  with  one  hundred 
pounds  of  ammunition  and  eight  days'  rations  just  before 
starting  on  that  fateful  campaign,  on  April  27,  1863. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  367 

1 ' The  plan  of  the  campaign  was  that  the  Fifth,  Eleventh 
and  Twelfth  (our)  corps,  should  rapidly  move  up  the 
Rappahannock  and  get  into  position  in  the  extreme  rear 
of  the  enemy  at  Fredericksburg,  rendezvousing  at  Chan- 
cellorsville  (of  course  we  privates  knew  nothing  about 
these  plans  at  the  time;  I  am  here  quoting  from 
'  Toombs'  Eeminiscences, '  Swinton,  and  other  authori- 
ties). General  Couch,  with  two  divisions  of  the  Second 
Corps,  was  to  follow  as  far  as  United  States  Ford,  and 
cross  there  as  soon  as  the  success  of  the  first  movement 
was  apparent  by  the  driving  away  of  the  enemy  guard- 
ing that  point.  Reynolds,  Sickles  and  Sedgwick,  with 
the  First,  Third  and  Sixth  Corps  were  to  cross  the  Rap- 
pahannock below  Fredericksburg  and  make  a  vigorous 
demonstration  at  that  point." 

Such  the  authorities  say  was  the  programme  for  the 
campaign,  and  it  was  really  well  planned,  for  it  in- 
volved a  simultaneous  attack  on  the  enemy  from  three 
sides,  and  a  series  of  those  flank  movements  which  in 
battle  are  supposed  to  be  invincible. 

Nothing  unusual  from  an  ordinary  march  occurred  for 
two  days.  There  were  no  signs  of  the  enemy  and 
everything  was  as  quiet  and  peaceful  as  a  militia 
parade  on  the  Fouth  of  July. 

The  only  thing  that  specially  attracted  my  attention 
was  the  ascension  of  a  military  balloon.  It  was  a  good 
sized  balloon  inflated  with  gas  from  a  generator  carried 
on  wheels  for  the  purpose.  It  ascended  several  hundred 
feet  and  from  it  we  could  see  the  two  occupants  scan- 
ning the  enemy's  country  through  their  field  glasses. 
The  balloon  was  attached  to  the  ground  with  a  long 
rope,  on  a  windlass,  and  at  a  given  signal,  the  men 
below  would  wind  up  the  windlass  and  haul  the  aero- 
nauts down.  I  distinctly  remember  wondering  what 
would  happen  if  some  rebel  sent  a  bullet  hole  through 
the  balloon  while  it  was  in  the  air. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  I  saw  the  first  mili- 
tary telegraph.  It  was  just  being  introduced  and  the 
men  were  drilling  as  we  marched  along,  in  preparation 
for  its  use  in  the  coming  battle.  The  men  ran  along 
like  skirmishers,  carrying  poles  about  ten  feet  long, 
sharpened  at  one  end,  while  the  other  had  a  sort  of 


368  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

double  fork,  like  the  hook  on  the  end  of  a  cistern  pole. 
Another  lot  of  men  would  come  along  with  wire  on 
reels  on  a  wagon,  and  this  was  strung  on  the  poles  about 
as  fast  as  the  horses  could  run.  Three  or  four  miles  of 
telegraph  line  could  be  put  up  in  an  hour  in  this  way, 
and  removed  in  less  time. 

At  each  end  of  the  line  was  an  operator.  The  idea 
was  a  good  one,  but  the  movements  of  an  army  in  battle 
are  too  rapid  to  use  the  telegraph  much.  I  remember 
seeing  the  lines  in  the  first  part  of  the  battle  of  Chancel  - 
lorsville,  but  before  long  they  were  tying  useless,  scat- 
tered along  the  ground. 

On  the  third  day  of  our  uneventful  march,  I  think  it 
was,  we  crossed  the  Rappahannock  River  on  pontoon 
bridges,  and  were  once  more  in  what  might  be  called 
the  enemy's  country.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  same 
day  we  approached  the  Rapidan  River,  and  were  about 
to  cross  it  at  Germania  Ford,  when  we  were  suddenly 
interrupted  and  startled  by  a  volley  of  musketry  from 
the  boys  in  the  Third  Wisconsin  and  Second  Massa- 
chusetts, immediately  in  front  of  us. 

We  had  suddenly  pounced  down  upon  a  lot  of  rebels 
busily  engaged  in  building  a  bridge  over  the  river,  and 
we  captured  nearly  the  entire  party.  They  were  a  jolly 
lot  of  Johnnies,  and  wanted  to  know  why  we  had  not 
waited  till  they  finished  the  bridge,  so  that  we  could 
cross  the  river  easier ! 

There  was  one  thing  at  this  point  that  filled  me  with 
horror.  As  we  approached  the  bank  at  the  edge  of  the 
narrow  river,  we  saw  on  the  other  side  a  rebel  who  had 
escaped  capture  and  who  was  running  over  the  open 
field.  A  big  Wisconsin  man  alongside  me  lifted  his 
rifle  and  aimed  at  the  fleeing  rebel. 

"Don't  shoot  him,"  I  cried.     "Tell  him  to  surrender!" 

"To — —  with  him,"  replied  the  bloodthirsty  Wis- 
consinian.     "Dead  rebs  tell  no  tales!" 

"But — "  I  started  to  say  something  more,  but  my 
voice  was  drowned  by  the  report  of  the  rifle,  and  the 
fleeing  rebel  dropped  dead. 

I  did  not  relish  tha,t  sort  of  warfare  a  bit.  It  looked 
to  me  like  murder,  this  shooting  down  in  cold  blood  one 
poor  man.    But  when  I  ventured  to  express  my  senti- 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  369 

merits  to  the  slayer,  he  gruffly  turned  upon  me  and  said : 

"Say,  young  feller,  when  you  know  the  devilishness 
of  those  varmints  as  well  as  I  do,  you  won't  be  so 
chickenhearted.     I  never  let  pass  a  chance  to  kill  every 

one  of  them  I  can.     So  just  hold  your  wind, 

young  feller. ' ' 

I  said  nothing  more,  but  I  had  my  opinions  about  it 
just  the  same.  It  is  one  thing  to  stand  in  a  line  and 
shoot  at  a  body  of  troops  collectively  shooting  at  you. 
It  is  quite  another  thing  to  shoot  down  a  single  human 
being  in  cold  blood  without  giving  him  a  chance  for  his 
life. 

The  bridge,  as  before  stated,  was  not  completed.  The 
pontoon  trains  were  some  distance  behind.  It  was 
necessary  to  cross  at  once,  and  we  were  ordered  to  do  so. 
There  was  no  alternative  except  to  ford  the  stream. 

The  water  was  at  least  four  feet  deep.  The  current 
was  very  strong.  We  had  to  put  our  bayonets  on  our 
guns  and  hang  our  knapsacks,  haversacks  and  cartridge 
boxes  upon  them,  so  as  to  carry  them  high  over  our 
shoulders  to  keep  them  from  getting  wet.  Cavalry 
pickets  were  stationed  a  little  further  down  the  stream 
to  catch  those  who  were  carried  from  their  feet  by  the 
swift  current,  which,  by  the  way,  were  not  few. 

We  were  wet  to  the  skin  and  it  was  growing  quite 
cold,  as  night  was  approaching.  Fires  were  lighted  to 
dry  our  clothing,  and  we  were  just  gathering  around  to 
make  ourselves  comfortable,  when  Major  Grimes  dashed 
suddenly  into  our  midst  and  yelled  out : 

"I  want  seven  men  that  ain't  afraid  of  hell!" 

I  don't  know  what  impulse  struck  me.  I,  one  of  the 
biggest  cowards  in  the  army  at  that  moment,  volun- 
teered as  one  of  the  seven  men  who  had  no  fears  for  the 
future  abode  of  the  wicked. 

It  was  a  sudden  impulse  of  some  sort  for  which  I 
could  never  account.  I  did  not  know  of  course  what  it 
meant.  I  did  know  that  it  meant  some  dangerous  duty 
to  perform.  My  comrades  naturally  looked  surprised 
when  I  volunteered  for  this  unknown  horror. 

I,  of  course,  repented  at  once  and  felt  like  kicking 
myself  for  being  so  fresh.  I  wondered  why  I  had  an- 
swered as  I  did,    But  I  wouldn't  back  out  now.    I 


070  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

would  have  been  a  laughing  stock  forever  afterward. 
Indeed,  after  going  that  far,  I  would  have  stuck  to  it  if 
I  had  positively  known  that  I  was  to  be  killed  in  half 
an  hour.  But  although  I  tried  to  look  brave  on  the 
outside,  everything  inside  of  me  was  quaking  with 
terror,  and  the  cold  chills  were  chasing  each  other  down 
my  back. 

With  my  fellow  volunteers  I  was  marched  to  brigade 
headquarters,  the  party  was  duly  formed,  and,  under 
the  command  of  a  captain,  we  started  out  for  the  un- 
known place  that  Major  Grimes  had  described  so  calor- 
ically. 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  371 


CHAPTEE  LXVIII. 

JO-SI-ER   AND    HIS   OLD'  OMAN. 

If  there  was  reliable  proof  that  the  real  old-fashioned, 
orthodox,  red-hot,  tire  and  brimstone  hell  were  of  no 
longer  duration  than  the  Tophet  described  by  the  excited 
Major  Grimes,  I  fear  that  there  would  be  a  good  deal 
more  wickedness  in  this  world. 

We  were  marched  up  the  hill,  and,  like  the  famous 
forty  thousand  men  of  old,  we  were  marched  down  again, 
and  back  into  the  camp  of  the  Thirteenth  Regiment. 
We  were  received  with  all  sorts  of  jeers  as  to  how  Ave 
liked  it.  whether  it  was  hot,  and  if  we  had  returned  for 
our  linen  dusters  and  fans!  We  assured  our  comrades 
that  his  Satanic  Majesty  was  enjoying  good  health  and 
was  as  active  as  ever,  but  he  wanted  more  company, 
and  we  had  come  back  for  the  rest  of  them. 

We  were  justified  in  saying  this,  for  we  learned  that 
it  had  been  decided  to  send  the  entire  Thirteenth  Regi- 
ment out  on  picket  that  night,  instead  of  only  a  smaller 
detachment.  The  enemy  had  been  discovered,  it  was 
said,  just  in  front  and  it  was  thought  best  to  send  out  a 
very  strong  picket  line.  So  the  other  fellows  had  to  go 
through  the  same  service  as  we  few  who  had  been  so 
very  fresh  in  volunteering. 

I  shall  never  forget  that  night.  Remember,  we  were 
drenched  to  the  skin  from  fording  the  Rapidan  River, 
and  the  night  was  cold,  as  it  is  usually  during  the  latter 
part  of  April,  even  in  Virignia.  There  really  isn't  very 
much  difference  between  the  climate  of  Virginia  and 
New  Jersey,  except  perhaps  in  midsummer  and  mid- 
winter. The  spring  and  fall  are  about  the  same  in  both 
States. 

We  had  advanced  into  the  enemy's  country,  and  the 
scouts  had  reported  the  rebels  immediately  in  front  of 


372  TEE  YOUNG   VOLTJNTEElt. 

us.  So  quietly  had  the  movement  of  this  wing  of  the 
Unio?i  army  been  that  the  enemy  evidently  had  no  idea 
that  we  were  so  close  upon  them,  and  there  was  a  likeli- 
hood of  a  collision  at  any  time. 

As  said  before,  we  were  sent  on  picket  on  the  very 
outposts.  There  was  nothing  between  us  and  the  rebels, 
and  there  wasn't  supposed  to  be  much  space  between  us 
at  that.  No  one  was  permitted  to  speak  above  a  whis- 
per for  fear  of  its  attracting  attention.  When  I  was 
placed  on  my  post,  which  was  in  a  thick  woods,  under 
a  big  tree,  where  it  was  as  dark  as  Egypt,  the  officer  of 
the  guard  instructed  me  in  a  low  whisper,  and  I  was 
advised  to  be  unusually  quiet.  I  was  not  even  to  march 
up  and  down  the  usual  proverbial  "beat."  The  noise 
of  the  footsteps  might  attract  attention.  Under  no  cir- 
cumstances was  a  match  to  be  struck  for  lighting  a  pipe 
or  any  other  purpose. 

Now  this  made  it  worse  than  ever.  Being  wet 
through  it  might  have  afforded  considerable  comfort  to 
be  able  to  Keep  moving  to  and  fro.  But  to  stand  still, 
drenched  as  we  were,  made  us  shiver  with  the  cold,  and 
pretty  soon  my  teeth  were  chattering  a  tattoo  that  made 
more  noise  than  my  footsteps  would  have  made  had  I 
been  patroling  a  beat. 

But  orders  were  orders  and  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  to  do  nothing — except  shiver.  I  never  suffered 
worse.     Inside  of  half  an  hour  I  was  almost  paralyzed. 

The  night  was  very  still.  The  slightest  noise  seemed 
to  penetrate  a  long  distance.  Way  out  in  front  some- 
where there  was  a  subdued  hum,  as  from  distant  voices, 
and  they  were  supposed  to  be  from  the  camps  of  the 
rebels.  Every  nerve  seemed  to  be  strung  to  the  utmost 
tension,  and  one's  ears,  under  such  circumstances,  were 
phonographic  with  their  supernatural  keenness. 

The  inactivity  of  the  position  finally  made  me 
drowsy,  and  I  feared  it  was  the  drowsiness  that  pre- 
ceded the  act  of  freezing  to  death.  I  shook  myself  to 
arouse  my  senses,  and  was  wondering  if  I  could  stand 
it  for  another  hour  or  so,  when  suddenly  my  acute  ears 
caught  the  sound  of  breaking  twigs.  Instantly  I  was 
all  attention.  I  at  once  brought  my  rifle  into  position 
and  raised  the  hammer. 


THE  YOtJNG   VOLUNTEER.  373 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  sound  of  the  crackling 
twigs,  till  it  seemed  to  be  within  ten  feet  of  me,  when, 
in  a  subdued  voice,  I  said : 

' '  Halt !     Who  comes  there?' ' 

"Fo'  de  Lo'd's  sake !     What's  dat?" 

That  was  the  answer  that  came  to  my  military  saluta- 
tion. It  was  so  unexpected,  so  different  from  what  I 
expected,  and  withal  so  comical,  that  I  came  near 
laughing  aloud.  But  I  was  suspicious.  It  was  the 
voice  of  a  negro,  but  it  might  be  the  assumed  tone  of  a 
rebel  scout.     So  I  again  said : 

"  Who  comes  there,  I  say?    Answer,  or  I  will  shoot !" 

"Fo'  de  Lo'd's  sake,  massa,  don't  shoot  dis  poor  nig- 
ger. I'se  doin'  nothing.  I  done  gone  done  nothin'. 
Doan'  shoot!     Oh,  Lo'd!  Oh,  Lo'd!" 

"Come  here  and  let  me  see  what  you  look  like,"  I 
said. 

There  was  a  rush  that  frightened  me,  and  before  I 
could  fully  realize  it,  there  kneeled  at  my  feet  the  worst 
scared  darky  ever  seen.  My  eyes  had  become  some- 
what accustomed  to  the  darkness,  and  I  could  see  him 
kneeling  at  my  feet  with  his  hands  clasped  in  the  atti- 
tude of  supplication. 

"Oh,  doan'  kill  dis  poor  nigger!"  he  cried.  "Doan' 
shoot  me.  I  doan'  know'd  dere  was  any  so'gers  about 
here.  I  tho't  dey  was  all  on  the  udder  side  of  de  crick. 
Say,  boss,"  he  added,  interrupting  himself,  as  he  drew 
a  little  nearer  and  straightened  himself  up:  "be  you-uns 
a  Yank?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "I  am  a  Northern  soldier.  I  am 
not  a  rebel.  And  there's  thousands  more  right  behind 
me." 

"Thank  de  Lo'd!"  he  cried  devoutly  "Praise  de 
Lamb!  Salvation  am  come  at  last!  Glory  Hallelu- 
yer!" 

I  didn't  know  what  the  confounded  darkey  meant.  I 
thought  I  had  struck  an  escaped  lunatic. 

"Praise  de  Lamb!"  continued  the  excited  negro. 
"Am  it  true  we  niggers  is  free?  Be  you-uns  one  ob 
Massa  Lincoln's  men?' ' 

I  assured  him  that  I  had  the  honor  of  being  one  of 
the  humble  members  of  the  army  lighting  for  the  gov- 


3H  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

eminent  presided  over  hj  Lincoln — although  of  course 
in  not  exactly  those  words.  Then  I  asked  the  poor 
darky  what  he  meant  hy  all  this  rigmarole. 

He  told  me  that  the  colored  people  there  were  wait- 
ing for  the  arrival  of  the  Northern  army  that  was  to  set 
them  free  and  take  them  "Up  North,"  where  they  were 
to  spend  the  rest  of  their  lives  in  the  midst  of  plenteous 
milk  and  honey — and  whiskey.  He  announced  his 
willingness' to  accompany  me  at  once. 

"I'se  ready  to  go  'long  straight  away  now,"  said  he, 
gladly.  "Only  wait  a  min'it  till  I  gits  de  old  'oman 
and  de  pickaninnies.  We-uns  '11  have  our  bund'l  ready 
in  a  min-it.  Praise  de  Lamb!  We'se  free  at  last! 
Glory  halleluyer!" 

The  excited  darky  fairly  yelled  this  out,  and  I  feared 
that  it  would  attract  the  attention  of  the  rebels  supposed 
to  be  a  short  distance  in  front.  So  I  told  him  to  stop  his 
noise.  The  corporal  of  the  guard  did  hear  it  and  came 
running  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  He  thought  of 
course  that  it  came  from  one  of  the  men  on  picket. 

The  matter  was  explained  to  the  corporal,  who  told 
the  darky  that  it  would  be  his  duty  to  take  him  back 
to  headquarters.  This  was  done  in  spite  of  the  protests 
of  the  darky,  who  wanted  to  go  back  after  "the  old 
'oman  and  de  pickaninnies." 

He  had  not  been  gone  long  before  another  sound  in 
the  darkness  ahead  of  me  nearly  frightened  the  wits  out 
of  me.     It  was  a  female  voice,  and  a  lusty  one  at  that : 

"Jo-si-er!" 

Now  the  front  syllable  of  this  appellation  fitted  me 
exactly,  but  I  concluded  to  remain  quiet  and  see  what 
it  all  meant.  I  recognized  the  voice  as  that  of  a  negro 
woman,  but  the  presence  of  a  woman  out  there  in  the 
woods  at  night  was  something  strange.  Presently  the 
call  was  repeated : 

"Jo-si-er!    Jo-si-er!    Whar  you  is,  Jo-si-er?" 

The  voice  didn't  seem  to  be  twenty-five  feet  distant, 
and  I  thought  I  would  venture  forward  and  investigate. 
The  crackling  of  the  twigs  was  heard  by  the  old  woman, 
and  she  said : 

"Oh,  dar  you  is,  Jo-si-er.  What  for  you  go  out  jist 
as  de  hoe  cake  am  done  bake?    Come,  it  am  ready,  you 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  375 

good  for  nothin'  lazy  nigger.  Seems  to  your  ol'  mammy 
you'se  allers  hungry." 

To  my  astonishment  I  found  myself  at  the  threshold 
of  a  typical  negro's  log  cabin.  On  the  hearth  blazed  a 
roaring  fire  that  was  temptingly  warm.  From  a  crane 
of  the  old-fashioned  sort  hung  a  big  broad  spider,  upon 
which  was  a  thick  hoecake,  done  to  a  turn,  while  on  a 
little  table  at  the  side  of  the  room  stood  a  steaming  pot 
of  coffee.     Goodness,  didn't  it  look  tempting ! 

I  had  no  idea  that  there  was  a  human  habitation 
within  miles,  and  I  was  thunderstruck  to  come  across 
the  cabin  occupied  by  this  negro  family.  I  stood  at  the 
open  doorway  contemplating  the  scene  with  curiosity 
and  interest. 

The  fat  old  negro  woman  was  standing  with  her  back 
to  me  and  did  not  see  me.  She  was  busily  engaged  in 
the  intricate  operation  of  getting  the  flap -jack  off  the 
griddle  upon  a  huge  platter  of  wood,  ready  to  remove 
to  the  table. 

"Here,  you  hungry  nigger,"  she  said,  "here's  yo' 
hoecake.  De  nex'  time  yo'  gits  yure  old  mammy  to 
bake  a  cake  for  yo'  in  de  middP  of  de  night,  3ro'll " 

Here  she  turned  and  saw  me.  Instead  of  "Jo-si-er" 
she  unexpectedly  contemplated  the  apparition  of  a  very 
wet,  very  tired  and  very  dirty-looking  soldier,  armed 
with  a  bayoneted  rifle,  standing  there  like  a  wandering 
ghost. 

She  gave  one  yell,  and  tottered  backward,  upsetting 
the  table,  spilling  the  steaming  coffee  on  the  floor,  and 
dropping  the  platter  with  the  hoecake  back  into  the  fire. 


376  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

A    MASKED    BATTERY. 

The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  make  a  grab  for  that  hoe 
cake  before  it  got  burned  up  in  the  fire.  While  I  was 
doing  this,  I  was  startled  by  a  series  of  unearthly  yells 
from  the  opposite  side  of  the  cabin. 

Looking  over  toward  that  direction  I  saw  three  young 
negro  babies,  ranging  in  age  from  two  to  five  years. 
They  had  been  asleep  on  the  floor  in  the  corner,  and 
had  hastily  arisen  in  terror  when  aroused  by  the  noise 
of  the  old  woman's  yelling.  The  "kids"  were  as  naked 
as  the  day  they  were  born.  The  colored  people  in  those 
parts  never  put  on  such  frills  as  dressing  their  children 
in  nightgowns  when  they  put  them  to  bed. 

My  attention  was  then  directed  to  the  old  woman  her- 
self. She  had  got  upon  her  knees,  and  with  her  hands 
clasped  devoutly  was  praying  with  a  vigor  that  would 
have  done  justice  to  a  Methodist  deacon  in  the  amen 
corner  of  a  church. 

"Oh,  Lo'd!  Oh,  Lo'd!"  she  exclaimed.  "Hab  mercy 
on  dis  ere  mis'ble  sinner.  Oh,  Massa  Debb'l,  doan' 
take  dis  poor  nigger!  Doan'  take  me  war  de  fire  burn 
and  is  not  done  squelched !  Oh,  Lo'd  sabe  me  from  de 
debb'l  afore  he  take  me  down  below!  Massa  Debb'l, 
please,  kind  Massa  Debb'l,  good  Debb'l,  doan'  tote  dis 
ere  poor  nigger  off  to  der ' ' 

"What  in  thunder  are  you  getting  off?"  I  inter- 
rupted. "What's  the  matter  with  you  anyhow?  I  am 
not  the  devil.  I  am  not  going  to  'tote'  you  off  to  the 
fire  and  brimstone.  What  I  want  is  some  of  that  flap- 
jack. And  put  the  coffee  on  again.  The  best  you  can 
do  if  you  don't  want  to  be  carried  off  is  to  get  that  sup- 
per ready  again.  Those  things  make  me  hungry.  The 
devil  don't  eat.     I  will  soon  show  you  that  I  am  no 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  377 

devil  if  I  once  get  my  teeth  on  the  edge  of  that  flap- 
jack." 

I  remember  to  this  day  how  the  whites  of  the  old 
woman's  startled  eyeballs  bulged  out  as  she  stood  there 
looking  at  me,  rot  even  yet  satisfied  whether  I  was  real 
flesh  and  blood  or  his  Satanic  Majesty. 

And  no  wonder.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever 
seen  a  Union  soldier  in  full  uniform.  The  rebel  uni- 
forms, originally  gray,  had  become  dirt  color,  and  if 
you  took  a  lot  of  prisoners  from  the  Passaic  county  jail 
and  armed  them  with  old  guns,  and  hung  a  dirty 
blanket  around  their  necks,  it  would  make  a  good  repre- 
sentation of  a  Confederate  private. 

Untidy  and  soiled  as  my  uniform  was,  it  looked  im- 
posing to  the  old  woman,  with  the  brass  belt  plates, 
glittering  bayonet  and  other  accouterments,  and  alto- 
gether it  looked  unlike  anything  she  had  seen  on  the 
earth  or  in  the  waters  under  the  earth.  It  was  only  natural 
that  she  took  me  for  a  devil.  But  I  can't  say  that  I  felt 
much  complimented! 

Shivering  and  shaking,  the  old  woman  hastened  to 
comply  with  my  orders.  Presently  she  managed  to 
muster  up  courage  to  ask  me  if  I  was  one  of  "Massa 
Lincum's  sogers."  I  assured  her  that  I  was  and  then 
followed  another  scene  of  thankfulness  over  freedom 
similar  to  that  of  the  man  I  had  encountered  on  the 
picket  post. 

Then  she  thought  of  the  man  herself. 

"Whar's  dat  Jo-si-er?"  she  asked.  "Did  you  see  a 
lazy,  good-for-nothin'  nigger  out  yar?  He  done  gone  so 
long  dat  I'se  afeared  he  am  gobbled  up." 

"Oh,  he's  all  right,"  I  answered.  "He  is  out  there 
talking  with  some  of  the  other  soldiers. ' '  I  did  not 
want  to  alarm  her  by  telling  her  that  he  had  been  cap- 
tured and  taken  back  to  headquarters. 

Just  then  I  heard  some  sort  of  a  commotion  outside. 
I  had  forgotten  all  about  my  duties  as  a  soldier  on 
picket.  The  sight  of  that  toothsome  hoecake  and 
steaming  coffee  had  driven  everything  else  from  my 
mind.  The  noise  outside,  however,  brought  me  to  my 
senses  again  and  I  started  to  go  out. 

"Here,  what's  going  on  here?"  asked  the  sergeant 


3?8  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

of  the  guard,  whom  I  met  at  the  door.  "What  are  you 
doing  off  your  post?  Don't  you  know  this  is  disobedi- 
ence of  orders?" 

"I  suppose  it  is,  sergeant,"  I  answered;  "but  just 
look  at  that  flapjack  there  on  the  table. ' ' 

"Halt,  second  relief,"  said  the  sergeant,  turning  to 
the  men  outside.  He  was  coming  around  with  the  sec- 
ond relief.     It  was  11  o'clock. 

Human  nature  is  human  nature.  The  sight  of  that 
hot  supper  there  on  that  cold  and  cheerless  night  had 
the  same  effect  on  the  sergeant  and  the  half-dozen  men 
with  him  that  it  did  on  me,  and  they  one  and  all  leaned 
their  guns  against  the  door  of  the  cabin  and  came  in. 

The  old  woman  had  the  coffee  ready  again  by  this 
time,  and  it  is  needless  to  say  that  we  made  quick  work 
of  that  hoecake.  Some  pork  gravy  was  served  as  butter 
and  I  don't  think  that  I  ever  tasted  a  meal  that  I 
relished  more  than  I  did  that  lonely  and  singular  repast 
there  in  the  wilderness. 

We  learned  some  of  the  facts  from  the  old  woman, 
too.  The  rebels  had  been  there  during  the  afternoon, 
but  had  marched  off  toward  Chancellorsville.  They 
did  not  know  that  there  were  any  Union  troops  any- 
where in  the  vicinity.  The  old  woman  had  heard  them 
say  that  they  were  going  away  for  good,  and  that  she 
would  not  see  them  again. 

This  settled  us  that  there  were  no  rebels  in  that  im- 
mediate vicinity  at  least,  and  we  felt  that  there  was  not 
so  much  need  of  being  quiet  and  careful  to  watch  for 
attack.  Of  course  it  was  a  gross  violation  of  duty  for 
any  of  us  to  be  there  in  that  hut,  even  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, but  I  don't  think  there  was  a  soldier  in  the  army 
who  would  not  have  taken  advantage  of  the  occasion. 

I  was  relieved  from  my  post  by  the  second  relief,  and 
went  back  to  the  picket  headquarters  for  a  little  sleep, 
as  I  did  not  have  to  go  on  duty  again  till  3  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  I  slept  soundly,  despite  the  racket  going 
on  around  me. 

This  racket  was  caused  by  the  arrival  of  the  remain- 
ing portion  of  the  army.  The  Thirteenth  Regiment, 
being  needed  for  picket  duty,  was  the  one  that  forded 
the  Rapidan.     The  others  crossed  on  pontoon   bridges 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  379 

that  had  been  placed  in  position,  and  they  came  over 
between  midnight  and  morning  and  went  into  camp 
around  us.  But  despite  all  the  noise  incident  to  this, 
we  men  who  had  been  on  picket  slept  the  sleep  only- 
known  to  tired  soldiers. 

And  well  was  it  that  we  could  sleep.  Had  we  known 
what  was  in  store  for  us  on  the  two  or  three  days  fol- 
lowing, none  of  us  would  have  felt  much  like  sleeping. 

I  was  on  picket  again  from  3  to  5  o'clock,  and  a  more 
lonesome  two  hours  I  never  experienced.  The  old  negro 
woman's  cabin  was  silent,  showing  that  she  and  the 
pickaninnies  had  gone  to  bed,  regardless  of  the  absence 
of  "Jo-si-er,"  and  with  the  exception  of  the  occasional 
hoot  of  an  owl,  the  woods  were  as  quiet  and  dismal  as  a 
cemetery. 

I  leaned  against  a  tree,  and  I  believe  that  I  fell  asleep 
standing  there.  This  was  often  the  case.  It  did  not 
take  much  for  a  soldier  on  picket  to  fall  asleep  on  the 
relief  just  before  daylight.  But  on  such  occasions  the 
picket  would  be  aroused  by  the  slightest  noise.  The 
noise  that  aroused  me  was  the  approach  of  the  second 
relief  again  at  0  o'clock.  If  I  was  asleep  I  was  wide 
awake  enough  when  the  relief  took  my  place,  and  I 
gladly  returned  to  camp,  completely  tired  out.  But 
there  was  no  more  sleep  that  night.  Already  the  army 
was  making  preparation  for  a  move. 

It  was  on  Thursday  morning,  April  30,  1863.  It 
was  the  day  previous  to  the  commencement  of  the  great 
battle  of  Chancellors ville.  We  knew  that  we  were 
engaged  in  some  important  movement,  of  course,  but 
did  not  know  when  the  fighting  would  begin  or  where. 
All  the  signs,  however,  with  which  we  had  become  so 
familiar,  indicated  that  we  were  close  upon  a  serious 
conflict  with  the  enemy. 

It  was  a  beautiful  sunny  forenoon.  The  weather  was 
simply  delightful.  We  were  marching  along  comfort- 
ably, leisurely  and  contentedly.  It  seemed  like  a 
spring  excursion  party,  so  peaceful  was  everything. 
There  was  not  a  sign  of  anything  like  an  enemy,  and 
the  only  sound  that  greeted  our  ears,  beside  the  joking 
and  laughter  of  the  soldiers,  was  the  chirping  of  the 
birds  in  the  trees  which  we  passed.     Now  and  then  a 


360  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

chipmunk  would  dash  across  the  road,  and  occasional'*^ 
the  cotton  tail  of  a  fleeing  rabbit  would  be  seen  scurry- 
ing through  the  brush. 

All  was  peace.  Nothing  could  seem  further  than 
anything  like  war,  when — 

"Boom!" 

Simultaneously  came  the  familiar  "Ker-chew,  ker- 
chew,  ker-chew"  of  a  flying  shell. 

Then  a  great  crash !  Then  yells  of  agony  and  moans 
of  pain,  for  the  shell  had  fallen  and  burst  in  our  ranks, 
right  in  front  of  us. 

Involuntarily  we  all  turned  our  eyes  toward  the  place 
from  which  the  report  came,  which  was  plainly  indi- 
cated by  the  still  hovering  cloud  of  smoke.  A  moment 
later  we  saw  a  small  battery  of  artillery  hurrying  away 
from  the  spot  on  a  gallop.  It  was  hidden  behind  a 
clump  of  bushes  on  the  hill.  It  was  what  was  called  a 
"masked  battery."  It  could  not  be  seen  from  the  road, 
and  no 'one  knew  that  it  was  there. 

A  company  of  cavalry  made  a  dash  after  the  fleeing 
artillery  of  the  enemy.  I  don't  know  if  they  were  cap- 
tured or  not. 

Our  column  halted  its  march,  and  everybody  made  a 
rush  to  the  place  where  the  soldiers  were  crowding 
around  the  wounded  men.  I  rushed  forward  with  the 
rest. 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  381 


CHAPTER  LXX. 

BEGINS  TO  LOOK  LIKE  BUSINESS. 

I  rushed  forward  with  others  to  see  what  damage 
had  been  done  by  the  shell  that  had  exploded  in  our 
ranks. 

And  I  was  immediately  sorry  that  I  had  done  so.  I 
received  a  shock  that  made  me  feel  sick  all  over. 

Two  men  had  been  literally  torn  to  pieces.  Their  re- 
mains was  strewn  over  the  roadway  from  one  side  to 
the  other.  One  man's  heart  was  still  throbbing.  Pieces 
of  skull  and  human  brains  lay  here  and  there ! 

One  poor  fellow  had  lost  a  leg,  and  his  writhing  was 
terrifying.  Others  were  less  seriously  wounded.  Alto- 
gether there  were  two  men  killed,  one  fatally,  and  six 
others  severely  wounded  by  the  explosion  of  that  single 
shell.  I  turned  from  the  scene  sick  at  heart  and  sick  at 
stomach. 

Nearly  every  man's  face  was  pallid.  It  was  the  sud- 
denness, the  unexpectedness  of  it.  Had  we  been  in  the 
midst  of  a  battle,  when  such  things  are  expected  and 
looked  for,  it  would  not  have  been  so  startling.  But 
everything  had  been  so  quiet  and  peaceful,  and  every- 
body's thoughts  were  so  far  away  from  anything  like 
carnage  and  death,  that  it  was  just  like  such  a  tragedy 
would  be  in  the  quiet  and  peaceful  streets  at  home. 

John  Ick  came  in  with  his  customary  remark  about 
"slaughter  houses, ' '  but  no  one  disputed  him.  It  looked 
more  like  a  slaughter  house  than  anything  else.  And 
it  seemed  more  like  cold-blooded  murder  than  warfare. 
But  then  what  is  warfare  but  murder,  at  the  best? 

For  some  time  after  we  resumed  our  march  there  was 
an  unnatural  quiet  in  the  ranks.  The  incident  through 
which  we  had  just  passed  seemed  to  have  an  effect  on 
every  one.     It  perhaps  impressed  each  one  with  the  fact 


38-2  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

that  we  were  likely  to  soon  meet  the  same  fate  as  the 
poor  wretches  we  had  seen  writhing  there  in  the  dusty 
road. 

But  the  spirits  of  soldiers  do  not  remain  depressed. 
Pretty  soon  we  came  to  a  small  farmhouse  along  the 
road,  and  in  the  barnyard  behind  the  dwelling  we 
caught  sight  of  an  old  sow  with  a  lot  of  sucking  pigs. 

There  was  no  orders  to  "break  rauks,"  but  immedi- 
ately there  was  a  grand  rush  for  those  porkers.  The 
squealing  captives  were  carried  back  into  the  line  despite 
the  indignant  protest  of  the  woman  in  a  very  shabby 
dress  who  came  out  and  futilely  ordered  the  return  of 
"them  'ere  shoats." 

As  we  marched  along  we  passed  quite  a  number  of 
farmhouses  and  each  one  was  denuded  of  everything  in 
the  shape  of  live  stock.  Soon  there  was  a  remarkable 
chorus  of  squealing  pigs,  squawking  chickens  and  quack- 
ing ducks  all  along  the  line.  The  boys  were  assured  of 
a  change  in  their  menu  for  once,  that  was  sure. 

We  marched  on  and  on  and  on.  Detouring  the  woods 
and  fields  on  each  side  of  us  was  a  lot  of  cavalry,  on  the 
lookout  that  we  might  not  be  again  surprised  by  a  shot 
from  a  masked  battery.  But  nothing  of  the  sort  oc- 
curred during  the  remainder  of  the  day,  and  we  did  not 
stop  till  night,  when  we  went  into  camp  in  line  of  battle 
in  a  fine  large  open  field  between  two  clumps  of  woods, 
in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Cbancellorsville. 

That  night  we  had  a  banquet  with  the  fresh  meat  and 
poultry  we  had  captured  during  the  day.  We  had  no 
duty  to  perform  that  night,  except  to  be  called  out  in 
line  to  hear  the  reading  of  some  orders. 

It  was  an  order  from  General  Hooker  complimenting 
the  Fifth,  Eleventh  and  Twelfth  corps  for  the  com- 
mendably  successful  manner  in  which  they  had  achieved 
the  movement,  whatever  it  was.  We  did  not  know 
what  it  was.  It  did  not  seem  anything  more  than  an 
ordinary  day's  march,  with  the  exception  of  tho  inter- 
ruption from  that  deadly  shell  from  the  masked  battery. 

But  General  Hooker  said  it  was,  and  that  settled  it. 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  braggadocio  about  that  order, 
by  the  way.  In  fact  General  Hooker  was  entirely  too 
previous.     The  order  said ; 


THE   YOUNG    VOTATirfEER.  383 

"It  is  with  heartfelt  satisfaction  that  the  command- 
ing general  announces  to  the  army  that  the  operations 
of  the  last  three  days  have  determined  that  our  enemy 
must  ingloriously  fly,  or  come  out  from  behind  his  in- 
trenchments  and  give  us  battle  on  our  own  ground, 
where  certain  destruction  awaits  him." 

We  all  cheered,  of  course.  It  was  the  proper  thing 
for  us  to  do  under  the  circumstances.  It  wasn't  a  bad 
idea  either,  that  order.  It  filled  the  troops  with  en- 
couragement and  fight,  and  impressed  them  with  the 
idea  that  this  really  was  to  be  the  deciding  battle  of  the 
war. 

It  is  said  that  General  Hooker  took  a  drink — perhaps 
several  of  them — after  the  issuance  of  that  order,  and 
made  the  remark  that  "God  Almighty  himself  couldn't 
get  the  rebels  out  of  the  hole  he  had  put  them  in." 
There  is  good  reason  for  the  statement  that  the  general 
did  make  some  such  remark  as  this. 

And  although  irreverent,  there  was  good  reason  for 
felicitation  over  the  successful  preparations  for  the  con- 
test. It  is  admitted  by  all  military  authorities  that  it 
was  one  of  the  best  planned  campaigns  in  history,  and 
up  to  the  time  of  the  issuing  of  that  order  by  General 
Hooker  it  was  perfect  as  a  military  movement. 

But  the  very  power  that  General  Hooker  had  so  ir- 
reverently referred  to  was  the  power  that  got  the  enemy 
out  of  the  hole,  and  turned  a  glorious  victory  into  one 
of  the  most  disastrous  defeats  of  the  civil  war.  Heaven 
literally  interfered  and  upset  the  calculations  of  an  able 
general. 

Man  proposes,  God  disposes.  Never  was  this  truer 
than  in  the  Chancellorsville  campaign.  But  of  that 
soon. 

We  slept  quietly,  peacefully  and  unmolested  that 
night.  Nothing  seemed  further  off  than  a  battle,  except 
for  the  sanguinary  orders  that  had  been  read,  and  the 
fact  that  when  we  lay  down  that  night  the  regiment 
was  formed  in  line  of  battle,  and  every  man  had  his 
musket  at  his  side.  As  for  any  sign  of  any  enemy 
there  was  no  more  right  there  than  there  is  here  where  I 
am  writing  at  the  present  moment.  Little  does  a  sol- 
dier know  what  the  morrow  may  bring  forth. 


384  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

Early  on  Friday  morning,  May  1,  after  my  compan- 
ions had  been  hammering  me  to  their  heart's  content 
because  it  was  my  birthday — a  boy  of  nineteen  years — ' 
we  fell  in  line  and  resumed  the  march. 

Soon  things  ''began  to  look  like  business." 

We  had  scarcely  gone  more  than  a  mile,  when  we 
were  turned  into  a  line  of  woods  and  formed  a  line  of 
battle.  We  were  ordered  to  throw  off  our  knapsacks 
and  leave  them  there — temporarily.  But  we  never  saw 
those  knapsacks  again.  I  suppose  mine  is  lying  there 
yet!  I  never  had  a  knapsack  on  my  shoulders  after 
that  morning ! 

Slowly  and  cautiously  we  moved  forward  through 
the  woods.  The  very  atmosphere  seemed  ominous. 
Pretty  soon  we  emerged  from  the  woods  and  reached  an 
open  field  where  we  were  ordered  to  lie  down — lie  flat 
to  the  ground.  I  think  that  I  occupied  the  space  of  a 
flounder! 

In  a  few  minutes  we  were  ordered  up,  and  we  sneaked 
— that  is  the  word — sneaked  forward,  slowly,  cau- 
tiously, till  we  reached  a  post  and  rail  fence  along 
another  piece  of  woods.     Into  this  we  marched. 

In  getting  over  the  fence,  our  regimental  commander, 
Colonel  Carman,  fell  and  was  wounded !  He  retired  to 
the  rear!  When  I  saw  him  go,  I  wished  heartily  that  I 
might  fall  off  the  fence  too ! 

Lieutenant-Colonel  Chadwick  was  happily — for  him 
■ — home  on  a  furlough,  and  the  command  of  the  regi- 
ment fell  on  Major  Jack  Grimes. 

Company  D  was  sent  forward  as  skirmishers,  sup- 
ported by  Company  C.  This  was  to  discover  the  where- 
abouts of  the  enemy,  supposed  to  be  hiding  somewhere 
in  the  front — to  go  forward  and  rake  up  the  muss,  as  it 
were! 

We  cautiously  moved  forward  some  five  or  six  hun- 
dred feet,  momentarily  expecting  to  unearth  the  enemy. 
Our  ears  were  constantly  on  the  alert  for  the  first  sound 
of  the  ominous  minie  bullet.     But  none  came. 

Just  as  we  had  got  in  a  good  position  and  things 
looked  as  if  the  impending  conflict  could  not  be  long 
deferred,  we  were  surprised  to  receive  orders  to  retreat, 
and  we  went   into  camp  again  not  very  far  from  the 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER,  385 

camp  we  had  left  in  the  morning.  Every  man  felt  as 
if  this  was  a  retrograde  movement  and  a  mistake,  and 
all  wondered  what  it  meant. 

But  soldiers  must  ask  no  questions.  They  have  noth- 
ing to  do  but  obey  orders,  and  the  next  order  we  received 
was  to  begin  cutting  down  the  trees  in  front  of  us  to 
build  up  a  breastworks  to  guard  against  surprise  from 
the  enemy  during  the  night. 

While  we  were  engaged  in  this  work,  we  were  startled 
by  the  discharge  of  a  cannon,  not  in  front  of  us,  where 
it  had  been  expected,  but  immediately  in  our  rear ! 


386  THE  TO Uim   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LXXI. 

CAPTURED   BY   THE   ENEMY. 

The  discharge  of  the  cannon  was  immediately  fol- 
lowed by  the  usual  swish  of  the  flying  shell.  We  were 
greatly  surprised  that  there  should  be  such  an  apparent 
attack  from  the  rear,  instead  of  the  front,  where  we  had 
been  expecting  it.  I  dropped  to  the  ground  and  wal- 
lowed in  the  leaves  like  a  pig,  to  escape  the  flying  mis- 
siles from  the  exploding  shell. 

Bat  there  was  no  exploding  shell,  at  least  near  us. 
The  shot  was  fired  from  our  own  side,  from  Battery  M, 
of  the  First  New  York  artillery,  and  it  was  followed  by 
two  or  three  others  of  the  same  sort. 

I  thought  it  was  the  beginning  of  the  fight,  of  course, 
but  it  seems  that  it  was  only  intended  as  a  "feeler,"  to 
see  if  the  rebels  would  take  it  up.  It  elicited  no  re- 
sponse whatever  and  everything  was  as  quiet  as  a  grave- 
yard in  the  direction  where  the  enemy  was  supposed  to 
be. 

This  quietness  made  us  all  the  more  apprehensive  of 
an  attack.  It  was  suspicious  and  we  became  impressed 
with  the  idea  that  there  was  some  sort  of  a  surprise  in 
store  for  us.  We  went  to  work  all  the  more  vigorously 
in  the  completion  of  the  breastworks. 

Well  do  I  remember  that  day's  work.  We  had  been 
served  with  a  ration  of  fresh  meat,  which  seemed  for 
some  reason  to  be  always  the  case  immediately  before  a 
battle.  Whether  this  was  to  arouse  the  animal  nature 
within  us  and  make  us  ready  for  a  fight,  I  cannot  say, 
but  it  was  always  a  fact  that  there  was  a  service  of  fresh 
meat  immediately  before  a  premeditated  engagement. 

The  cattle  had  been  killed  near  us,  and  there  lay 
around  on  the  ground  great  numbers  of  heads.     These 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  337 

we  placed  on  top  of  the  breastworks,  with  the  horns 
pointing  toward  where  the  enemy  was  supposed  to  be. 
This  gave  the  breastworks  a  terribly  ferocious  appear- 
ance, but  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  about  as  useful  as 
the  bearskin  hat  of  a  drum  major. 

When  I  afterward  read  how  the  Chinese  soldiers  went 
to  battle  with  umbrellas,  and  making  hideous  noises  to 
frighten  the  Japs  before  shooting  at  them,  it  involun- 
tarily took  me  back  to  those  cows'  horns  on  top  of  the 
breastworks  at  Chauceliorsville.  We  are  not  so  very 
far  advanced  over  the  heathen  when  it  comes  to  the 
details  of  war,  after  all  our  boasted  civilization.  But  I 
forgot.  War  is  not  civilization.  When  the  time  of 
perfect  civilization  arrives  there  will  be  no  such  thing 
as  war. 

We  had  just  about  finished  the  breastworks  that  after- 
noon when  General  Ruger  ordered  us  to  move  forward  in 
light  marching  order.  This,  bear  in  mind,  was  Satur- 
day, May  2,  1863,  a  date  that  has  gone  down  in  history 
for  more  than  one  reason  as  being  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant in  the  history  of  the  war. 

As  I  said,  we  were  ordered  out  in  light  marching 
order.  We  had  already  lost  our  knapsacks,  but  this 
meant  to  leave  even  our  haversacks,  canteens  and 
blankets.  A  detachment  was  left  behind  to  guard  these 
things,  which  we  left  with  considerable  reluctance,  for 
whatever  else  a  soldier  may  cheerfully  do  he  hates  to 
leave  behind  his  "grub-bag"  and  "watering  can." 

We  were  conducted  to  a  position  far  in  advance  of 
the  one  we  had  occupied,  and  there  were  ordered  to  lie 
down.  "Lie  low  and  be  quiet"  was  the  order.  I  lay 
as  low  as"B'rer  Rabbit"  and  wallowed  in  the  leaves  of 
the  woods  like  a  hog.  We  all  remained  quiet,  speak- 
ing not  above  a  whisper.  These  things  were  most  dis- 
agreeably ominous. 

The  rest  of  our  brigade,  with  General  Pleasanton's 
cavalry  and  brigade  of  the  Eleventh  corps,  had  been 
sent  out  to  reinforce  General  Sickles.  The  latter  had 
been  ordered  to  go  forward  and  reconnoiter  the  position 
of  the  enemy,  and  had  come  across  them  sooner  than 
tbey  expected.  General  Sickles  had  struck  the  rear 
guard  of  Jackson's  rebel  troops  and  had  taken  quite  a 
number  of  prisoners. 


388  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

Word  came  back  that  the  enemy  was  retreating  and 
we  all  felt  delighted  at  the  easy  way  the  thing  was 
going.  We  felt  a  degree  of  security  that  we  had  not 
entertained  in  some  days.  But  alas!  It  was  false 
security. 

One  brigade  of  the  Eleventh  corps,  and  our  brigade 
of  the  Twelfth,  were  guarding  the  extreme  right  of  the 
line  of  battle,  while  General  Sickles  and  his  associates 
were  chasing  what  was  then  supposed  to  be  the  main 
body  of  a  rebel  army. 

But  here  is  where  the  rebels  fooled  us.  The  supposed 
retreat  which  Sickles  was  following  was  only  a  com- 
paratively small  detachment  of  the  enemy.  The  main 
body  was  flanking  us,  and  the  scene  of  the  flank  attack 
was  immediately  where  we  stood. 

The  Eleventh  corps  brigade  was  a  little  to  the  right 
of  us.  My  company  was  just  then  on  the  top  of  a  hill, 
in  front  of  which  was  a  ledge  of  rocks.  On  the  right 
was  the  edge  of  a  piece  of  sparse  woods.  On  the  left 
and  behind  us,  were  the  sloping,  rocky  sides  of  the  hill 
on  which  we  stood. 

In  front  was  a  low,  level  space,  like  a  plain.  From 
my  elevated  position  I  could  see  General  Sickles' 
troops  corral ing  the  rebel  prisoners  and  bringing  them 
toward  us.  A  forlorn  lot  they  were,  in  their  dirty  gray 
uniforms,  shapeless  slouch  hats,  and  generally  disrep- 
utable appearance.  I  felt  pity  for  the  poor  fellows,  on 
many  of  whose  faces  I  imagined  I  could  see  traces  of 
satisfaction  over  having  been  taken  prisoners. 

It  was  just  before  dusk.  The  sun  had  set  in  a  scene 
of  glory  behind  the  western  hills.  The  sky  was  cloud- 
less, golden  in  hue.  It  was  the  approach  of  a  beautiful 
night.  It  was  so  beautiful  that  I  even  remember  hav- 
ing remarked  it,  there  in  that  exciting  scene. 

Exciting  scene,  did  I  say?  The  excitement  was  just 
to  commence. 

Suddenly  there  were  yells,  cries,  shouts,  and  the  whiz 
of  flying  bullets  on  every  side. 

Immediately  I  was  surrounded  by  thousands  of  flying 
men. 

The  first  that  came  were  hundreds  of  Eleventh  corps 
officers  and  men.  I  immediately  recognized  them  by 
the  half -moons  on  their  hats. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  380 

Their  eyes  fairly  bulged  from  their  heads  in  their 
terror  and  excitement.  Many  of  them  were  hatless,  and 
their  hair  streamed  behind  from  the  breeze  caused  by 
their  rapid  flight.  Hundreds  were  unarmed,  having 
thrown  away  their  guns  in  their  panic. 

Then,  mixed  up  with  the  blue,  was  the  gray.  The 
rebels,  right  there  in  our  midst,  all  running,  all  shout- 
ing and  yelling,  were  as  numerous  as  the  fleeing  boys 
in  blue. 

Then  there  came  horses,  some  riderless,  pack  mules, 
artillery  caissons,  ambulances  and  what  not,  in  inextri- 
cable confusion,  a  perfect  mob,  demoralized,  disorgan- 
ized, utterly  beyond  control — for  it  was  a  panic ! 

The  Union  troops  were  fleeing  as  they  supposed  for 
their  lives.  The  rebels  were  chasing  them  to  take  them 
prisoners.  There  was  nothing  like  order  or  discipline. 
It  was  simply  a  crazy  mob,  a  rout,  a  flight  of  panic- 
stricken  men,  rushing  with  about  the  same  judgment 
and  sense  as  a  big  audience  would  rush  from  a  burning 
theater. 

They  came  like  an  avalanche — like  a  whirlwind. 
Union  and  Confederate,  blue  and  gray,  were  inextri- 
cably mixed  together,  all  rushing,  screaming,  yelling, 
shouting ! 

Nothing  could  withstand  that  rush.  For  an  instant 
I  stood  petrified,  and  was  then  swept  from  my  feet  as 
if  I  had  been  a  wisp.  What  became  of  my  comrades 
I  knew  not.  They  had  disappeared,  been  swallowed  up 
in  the  tidal  wave  of  humanity.  I  was  knocked  down 
and  rolled,  fortunately,  behind  an  overhanging  ledge  of 
rock. 

I  did  not  attempt  to  rise.  If  I  had  I  would  have  been 
trampled  to  death  in  an  instant.  Instead,  I  crowded  as 
closely  as  possible  under  the  protecting  rock,  while  over 
me  there  poured  a  steady  stream  of  human  beings, 
friends  and  foe  alike.  They  went  over  that  rock,  jump- 
ing over  to  the  further  side,  like  the  endless  roll  of 
Erie's  waters  over  the  precipice  at  Niagara. 

This  was  the  scene  that  has  gone  into  history  as  "The 
break  of  the  Eleventh  corps  at  Chancellors ville. "  I 
was  right  in  it.  In  fact  I  was  altogether  too  much  in 
it  for  comfort's  sake. 


390  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  '    '    •  ;  . '. 

Vi  Lat  was  it  all?    What  did  it  mean? 

History  calmly  tells  us  that  the  Eleventh  corps  had 
been  surprised  by  Jackson,  and  the  latter,  by  a  flank 
movement,  had  charged  upon  the  former,  compelling 
them  to  fly.  This  is  what  history  says.  And  history  is 
right  when  it  says  that  the  Eleventh  corps  did  fly.  No 
other  word  could  justly  describe  the  movement. 

After  a  little  while  the  main  portion  of  the  grand  rush 
subsided  and  I  thought  it  was  safe  to  emerge  from  my 
place  behind  the  rock  and  start  to  hunt  for  the  Thir- 
teenth Regiment  of  New  Jersey  Volunteers. 

I  straightened  myself  up,  and  was  about  to  pick  up 
my  rifle  from  the  ground,  when  a  rough  hand  was 
placed  on  my  shoulder  and  a  gruff  voice  met  my  aston- 
ished, and  I  might  say,  very  much  startled  ears. 

"You  are  my  prisoner,  you Yank!" 

I  turned,  and  found  myself  in  the  firm  grasp  of  a 
stalwart  rebel  sergeant  I 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  391 


CHAPTER  LXXII. 

A  SECOND  BALAKLAVA. 

I  WAS  a  prisoner ! 

A  more  terrible  situation  it  would  be  hard  to  con- 
ceive. The  approaching  darkness  of  the  ending  day 
was  made  the  more  gruesome  by  the  smoke  that  arose 
from  the  desultory  firing  of  many  rifles,  and  the  inter- 
mittent boom  of  artillery  posted  on  every  elevated  posi- 
tion. 

Demoralized  soldiers  were  rushing  hither  and  thither, 
apparently  without  system  or  order,  separated  from 
their  regiments,  without  commanders.  Cavalry  horses, 
some  riderless,  galloped  to  and  fro,  apparently  not 
knowing  where  they  were  going.  The  whole  battlefield 
was  a  scene  of  indescribable  confusion,  noise  and  smoke. 

I  turned  to  look  at  the  Confederate  soldier  who  had 
taken  me  his  prisoner.  He  was  a  tall,  gaunt  specimen 
of  a  rebel,  with  protruding  cheek  bones,  little,  glisten- 
ing eyes,  hair  long  and  unkempt.  On  his  head  was  a 
broad-brimmed,  gray  slouch  hat,  much  the  worse  for 
wear  and  dirt.  His  uniform,  if  uniform  it  may  be 
called,  looked  like  the  clothing  of  a  man  who  had  just 
come  from  a  trench  where  he  had  been  mending  a 
bursted  water  main. 

The  rifle  he  carried,  as  well  as  the  blanket  slung  over 
his  shoulder,  his  canteen  and  haversack,  I  immediately 
recognized  as  having  been  recently  taken  from  some 
Union  soldier.  Half  the  Confederate  army  were  pro- 
vided with  these  equipments  from  the  Northern  side, 
although  where  they  obtained  them  was  a  mystery. 

I  must  confess  that  my  captor  presented  a  rather  pic- 
turesque appearance.  He  looked  like  a  cowboy  on  tho 
plains — or  in  a  circus.     Although  he  was  so  tall  and 


392  TEE  YOTTFG   VOLUNTEER. 

gaunt,  there  was  a  kindly  expression  in  his  eye,  and  I 
was  not  the  least  frightened,  for  some  reason  or  other. 

'Well,  now  that  you've  got  me,  what  are  you  going 
to  do  with  me?"  I  asked. 

"Wall,  Yank,"  replied  he,  "I  reckon  as  how  we- 
uns  '11  have  to  take  you-uns  back  to  the  coop." 

"Tve  a  good  mind  to  take  you  prisoner,"  said  I]  im- 
pudently. 

This  made  the  rebel  laugh  outright.  And  it  was 
rather  funny.  I  had  no  rifle  or  other  arms,  and  my 
captor  was  not  only  well  provided  in  that  respect,  but 
he  was  almost  twice  my  size.  He  could  easily  have 
picked  me  up  and  carried  me  off.  The  idea  struck  me 
as  being  comical.  It  wasn't  a  very  cheerful  place  for 
mirth,  but  we  both  laughed  in  concert  at  the  idea  I  had 
suggested. 

"The  trouble  'pears  to  be,  jist  neow,"  said  he,  with 
that  peculiar  twang  noticeable  alike  way  "down  East" 
and  in  the  South,  "the  trouble  'pears  to'Jbe,  that  we-uns 
can't  tell  which  way  to  go.  Things  seem  to  be  all 
mixed  up.  We-uns  men  and  you-uns  men  be  a  running 
all  ways  ter  onct,  an'  if  we-uns  don't  look  out,  we-uns 
'11  take  you  back  to  your  own  camp,  an'  we-uns  '11  be 
taken  prisoners  by  you-uns  a'ter  all!" 

It  seemed  very  likely.  Union  and  Confederate  sol- 
diers appeared  to  be  inextricably  mixed  in  the  wild, 
panicky  rush  that  still  continued,  although  it  was  sub- 
siding. So  we  just  stood  there,  hardly  knowing  what 
to  do.  A  moment  later,  however,  something  occurred 
that  riveted  both  our  attention,  the  contemplation  of 
which  so  absorbed  us  that  we  both  forgot  our  respective 
conditions. 

A  Union  general,  accompanied  by  several  members 
of  his  staff,  rode  up  to  near  where  we  stood.  I  heard 
subsequently  that  it  was  General  Pleasanton.  The 
latter  called  to  him  another  officer,  a  major  of  cavalry. 

"Where  is  your  command,  major?"  asked  General 
Pleasanton. 

"Eight  over  thereunder  the  edge  of  that  woods," 
replied  the  major,  saluting. 

"How  many  men  have  you?" 

"About  six  hundred,  general.     But  there's  Captain 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  893 

Bassett's  cavalry  immediately  beyond,  and  I  can  get 
them  if  necessary.  That  would  make  twelve  hundred, 
about." 

"How  comes  it  that  Captain  Bassett  is  in  command? 
Where  is  the  colonel?" 

"He  is  wounded,  general.  He  was  shot  from  his 
horse  only  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"Very  well,  major.  We  have  not  a  moment  to  lose. 
I  want  you  to  hold  back  that  corps  coming  over  at  the 
edge  of  the  woods  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  hold  them 
till  I  place  my  battery  here.     Do  you  understand?" 

I  saw  the  face  of  the  major  first  flush  and  then  turn 
pale.     And  no  wonder ! 

From  the  position  where  we  stood,  we  could  see  the 
rebel  corps  referred  to  approaching.  It  was  (General 
Jackson's  Confederate  troops — the  same  that  had 
flauked  the  Eleventh  corps  and  driven  them  back,  caus- 
ing the  panic-stricken  stampede  which  we  had  just 
gone  through.  In  that  corps,  approaching  us  to  give 
battle  on  a  part  of  the  Union  army  where  all  was  de- 
moralization, where  there  was  not  a  gun  in  position  for 
action,  there  were  from  fifteen  to  twenty  thousand  men ! 

And  yet  that  vast  body  was  to  be  kept  back  by  a 
comparatively  insignificant  body  of  twelve  hundred 
cavalrymen ! 

The  major  saw  what  was  meant,  and  turned  pale. 
But  I  will  never  forget  his  answer:  "General,  I  under- 
stand your  order  and  will  do  my  duty." 

Now  here  was  the  theory  of  that  murderous  move- 
ment. General  Pleasanton  wanted  to  bring  some  of  his 
artillery  to  that  hill,  place  them  in  position,  and  be 
ready  to  repel  the  attack  of  the  rapidly  approaching 
corps  under  General  Jackson.  It  would  take  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes  at  the  very  least  to  post  the  artillery. 
That  time  must  be  secured  at  whatever  sacrifice. 

It  was  simply  a  question  of  occupying  the  enemy's 
attention  for  that  ten  or  fifteen  minutes.  In  projecting 
a  body  of  twelve  hundred  men  against  a  corps  of  some 
twenty  thousand,  there  was  but  one  result  possible. 
That  was  the  practical  annihilation  of  the  smaller  num- 
ber. 
..  It.  was  this  principle  on  which  General  Grant  later  on 


394  THE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER.  '  ' 

prosecuted  the  war.  He  argued  that  war  was  but  a 
question  of  attrition.  That,  other  things  being  equal,  the 
larger  army  would  succeed.  By  just  so  many  men  as 
the  larger  army  exceeded  the  smaller,  just  so  many  men 
would  be  left  on  the  larger  and  victorious  side  when 
the  battle  was  over. 

In  the  present  instance  it  was  merely  a  question  of 
the  number  of  minutes  that  would  be  consumed  by  the 
approaching  rebel  corps  to  annihilate  the  interposing 
Union  cavalry.  Would  it  take  ten  or  fifteen  minutes? 
If  so,  then  there  would  be  time  for  the  posting  of  the 
artillery.     If  not,  then  the  movement  would  be  a  failure. 

It  was  a  ride  to  death,  but  unflinchingly  did  that 
major  and  his  twelve  hundred  men  throw  themselves 
intolthe  jaws  of  almost  certain  destruction. 

And  I  saw  that  movement — an  achievement  that  has 
gone  down  into  history  in  prose  and  in  poetry  as  one  of 
the  most  marvelous  examples  of  bravery  seen  in  the  civil 
war.  It  was  an  achievement  that  rivalled  that  at  Bala- 
klava,  made  immortal  by  Tennyson's  famous  "Charge 
of  the  Light  Brigade." 

Yes,  I  was  an  eyewitness  of  that  terrible  cavalry 
charge  of  twelve  hundred  against  fifteen  or  twenty 
thousand.  I  and  my  rebel  companion  stood  there  pet- 
rified with  amazement,  as  we  watched  the  scene.  We 
saw  the  cavalry  charge  into  the  rebel  corps,  only  to  be 
cut  down  in  rows.  It  was  an  indescribably  awful  con- 
flict while  it  lasted. 

Men  were  shot  from  their  horses.  Horses  were  shot 
under  the  men,  and  the  latter  in  many  instances  fell 
under  the  steeds  struggling  in  their  death  agony.  Soon 
the  smoke  rising  from  the  firearms  arose  and  obscured 
the  view  from  our  vision. 

In  the  meantime  General  Pleasanton  was  getting  his 
artillery  into  position  on  the  hill  near  us.  For  some 
reason  we — my  captor  and  I — stood  there,  comparatively 
isolated  from  the  rest.  Near  us  were  a  number  of  Union 
men  in  charge  of  detachments,  men  who  had  been  taken 
prisoners  by  the  enemy  the  same  as  I  had  been.  It  was 
rather  a  strange  situation. 

The  trouble  was  that  things  had  got  so  much  mixed 
that  the  rebels  did  not  know  which  way  to  take  us. 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  395 

Union  and  Confederate  soldiers  seemed  to  be  every- 
where alike.  This  perhaps  was  never  known  before  or 
after  during  the  entire  war,  but  all  who  were  in  the 
midst  of  the  Eleventh  corps  rout  at  Chancellorsville  will 
testify  that  it  was  as  here  described. 

The  movement  of  the  handful  of  cavalry  was  a  suc- 
cess. It  took  the  rebel  corps  fully  twenty  minutes  to 
disperse,  I  might  almost  say  annihilate,  for  of  that  gal- 
lant twelve  hundred,  if  the  records  are  right,  but  thirty- 
eight  survived  the  charge !  Among  the  first  killed  was 
the  gallant  major  to  whom  General  Pleasanton  had 
given  the  fateful  order. 

But  the  posting  of  the  cannon  soon  changed  the  aspect 
of  affairs.  In  a  few  minutes  shrapnel  and  shell  were 
plowing  down  the  ranks  of  the  approaching  troops,  and 
they  were  driven  back. 

A  moment  later  a  division  of  infantry  attacked  Gen- 
eral Jackson's  corps  on  their  left,  and  they  were  driven 
off  in  confusion,  and  as  history  puts  it,  "with  great 
loss." 

My  rebel  captor  still  stood  there  standing  guard  over 
me  nominally,  but  so  absorbed  in  what  he  had  just  wit- 
nessed that  he  said  not  a  word  nor  made  any  attempt 
to  conduct  me  further. 

Just  then  a  sudden  inspiration  seized  me,  and  acting 
upon  it,  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it  I  had  made 
my  escape.  There  was  probably  never  anything  like  it 
during  the  war.  I  have  to  smile  every  time  I  think  of 
it  even  to  this  day. 

But  I  will  wait  till  the  next  chapter  to  tell  just  what 
did  happen. 


396  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LXXIII. 

A  QUEER  ESCAPE. 

Now  the  usual  weapons  of  warfare  are  rifles,  pistols 
and  swords.  1  don't  think  it  is  customary  to  use  one's 
fists  in  battle.  It  is  not  often  that  the  two  opposing 
sides  get  near  enough  together  to  use  swords,  let  alone 
knuckles 

But  this  is  an  exception.  I  did  use  my  fists.  I 
knocked  my  rebel  captor  down,  and  made  my  escape. 
I  believe  it  is  the  only  time  in  my  life,  at  least  since 
schoolboy  da}^s,  that  I  ever  knocked  a  person  down  with 
a  blow  from  my  fist 

As  stated  in  the  preceding  chapter,  my  rebel  captor 
and  I  were  simply  petrified  with  amazement  at  the 
scene  we  had  just  witnessed,  and  we  still  stood  there 
after  it  was  practically  over.  As  before  stated,  we  were 
on  a  rocky  ledge  or  hill,  one  side  of  which,  that  toward 
the  enemy,  was  precipitous,  while  the  other  side  was 
sloping. 

My  tall  companion  stood  a  little  lower  than  I,  so  that 
our  heads  were  about  even.  Glancing  down  I  noticed 
that  he  was  standing  right  on  the  edge  of  a  rock,  from 
which  there  was  a  step  of  four  or  five  feet. 

Visions  of  the  horrors  of  Libby  prison,  about  which  I 
had  heard  so  much,  flashed  through  my  mind  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning.  Why  should  I  go  there  without 
a  struggle,  at  least?  Was  it  possible  that  I  might  make 
my  escape? 

Then  I  noticed  the  advantage  of  my  position.  That 
settled  it!  My  thoughts,  which  were  working  with 
electric  swiftness,  were  hardly  more  rapid  than  my 
action. 

An  inspiration  seized  me,  and  I  suddenly  let  out, 
with  my  full  force,  with  my  right  fist,  and  gave  that 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  397 

big  rebel  a  blow  under  his  ear  that  must  have  aston- 
ished him  greatly,  even  if  it  did  not  hurt  him  much. 

I  saw  him  reel,  lose  his  balance,  and  fall  headlong 
from  the  edge  of  the  rock  where  he  had  been  standing. 
As  he  fell  his  gun  flew  from  his  hands,  and  he  went 
sprawling  down  the  steep  side  of  the  elevation. 

I  went  the  other  way ! 

Talk  about  sprinting !  Talk  about  bicycle  scorching 
and  breaking  records  on  the  Blank  Company's  patent 
light-weight,  non-puncturable  tires ! 

None  of  them  could  hold  a  candle  to  the  gait  I  main- 
tained as  I  rushed  down  the  other  side  of  the  hill.  I 
ran,  I  knew  not  whither,  neither  did  I  care,  so  long  as  I 
was  escaping.  I  went  through  a  brook  without  as 
much  as  wetting  my  feet,  jumped  little  precipices, 
vaulted  over  deserted  breastworks,  dodged  under  the 
shells  flying  from  the  cannon's  mouths,  and  never 
stopped  till  I  at  last  fell,  almost  senseless,  with  palpi- 
tating heart  and  panting  breath,  alongside  a  little  brook 
in  the  midst  of  a  thicket ! 

But  I  was  safe,  and  that  was  all  that  I  cared  about. 

I  never  knew  what  became  of  my  rebel  captor. 
While  I  was  running  I  felt  the  buzz  of  a  bullet  swish 
past  mjr  head,  which  I  imagine  came  from  his  rifle,  al- 
though of  course  there  was  no  telling  who  fired  the 
bullets  that  were  flying  around  so  recklessly  just  about 
then  and  there ! 

But  I  was  left  quiet  only  for  a  moment.  There  was 
a  mighty  cry  and  yell,  a  wild  rush,  and  the  first  thing 
I  knew  I  was  knocked  headlong  into  the  brook  by  a 
team  of  runaway  horses — a  six-horse  team  at  that ! 

It  may  sound  queer  to  the  reader  who  has  not  been  in 
the  war  to  hear  one  talking  about  horses  running  away 
in  the  midst  of  a  battle.  That  sounds  too  much  like  an 
everyday  street  incident.  But  nevertheless  such  was 
the  fact.  It  was  a  very  frequent  occurrence,  and  many 
men  were  injured  by  runaway  horses  during  the  war. 
Horses  are  horses,  whether  at  home  or  in  the  army,  and 
they  will  run  away  just  the  same  and  from  similar 
causes. 

It  is  a  wonderful  thing  how  a  horse  becomes  ac- 
quainted with  his  surroundings.     Here  at  home,  no 


398  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

matter  how  much  he  may  be  frightened  at  first,  he  soon 
becomes  accustomed  to  the  electric  cars  and  the  steam 
road  roller.  In  the  army  the  horse  becomes  accustomed 
to  the  moving  of  large  bodies,  the  racket  of  the  bands, 
and  even  the  intolerable  noises  of  a  battle.  But  some 
little  thing,  insignificant  in  itself,  but  out  of  the  usual 
order,  will  startle  a  horse  and  set  him  to  running  away. 

I  don't  know  what  started  the  team  that  ran  over  me. 
They  were  attached  to  the  limber — the  front  wheels  and 
ammunition  box — of  a  cannon,  and  they  came  dashing 
down  the  hill,  striking  me,  and  knocking  me  into  the 
brook,  and  passing  over  me. 

The  soft  mud  in  the  bottom  of  the  brook  probably 
saved  my  life.  I  was  pressed  deep  into  the  slimy  ooze, 
and  covered  from  head  to  foot — a  veritable  "mud 
bath." 

I  pulled  myself  out  with  difficulty,  quite  badly  hurt, 
having  received  a  severe  bruise  on  the  hip.  I  did  not 
think  much  of  it  at  the  time,  but  it  began  to  hurt  badty 
afterward,  and  has  bothered  me  ever  since  more  or  less, 
particularly  in  cold  and  damp  weather. 

But  I  was  young  then,  and  comparatively  tough,  and 
although  I  was  still  stiff  and  sore,  yet  I  scrambled  out, 
and  scraping  off  some  of  the  mud  with  a  stick,  pro- 
ceeded to  discover  "where  I  was  at." 

Just  then  I  heard  a  moan  in  the  bushes  near  me,  and 
a  cry  for  help.  I  went  to  the  spot  and  found  an  officer 
lying  there  with  the  blood  flowing  from  a  wound  in  the 
fleshy  part  of  his  leg.  A  closer  inspection  discovered, 
to  my  astonishment,  that  it  was  none  other  than  Major 
Grimes. 

"Why,  major,"  said  I,  "what's  the  matter?  Are 
you  hurt?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  "I'm  shot  through  the  leg,  I 
guess.     Can't  you  help  me  to  get  somewhere?" 

The  major  was  a  big  man,  and  it  was  about  all  I 
could  do  to  support  him  on  his  feet,  but  I  managed  to  do 
so,  and  led  him  back  a  ways,  where  there  was  a  fire  and 
a  little  yellow  flag  stuck  in  the  ground.  This  indicated 
the  headquarters  of  some  surgical  detachment.  The 
doctors  were  there  engaged  in  their  customary  butcher- 
ing work.  I  turned  the  major  over  to  their  tender 
mercies. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  390 

Perhaps  Major  Grimes  never  knew  till  now  who  was 
the  private  that  led  him  out  of  the  thickets  where  he 
was  shot,  on  that  eventful  Saturday  evening,  May  2, 
1863.  Major  Grimes  was  not  seriously  hurt,  however. 
It  was  only  a  flesh  wound,  and  not  dangerous,  although, 
doubtless,  painful  enough. 

I  then  started  out  to  see  if  I  could  find  the  Thirteenth 
Regiment  of  New  Jersey  Volunteers.  But  it  was  like 
finding  a  needle  in  a  haystack.  It  was  simply  a  disor- 
ganized mob. 

It  had  become  dark,  and  only  for  the  faint  lights  of 
campfires  here  and  there  was  there  any  guiding  beacon 
for  the  homeless  wanderers  who  were  looking  for  their 
respective  commands. 

In  a  case  like  this,  the  regimental  flag  is  the  designat- 
ing emblem  of  the  position  of  the  command.  I  looked 
for  a  long  while  for  the  colors  of  the  Thirteenth  in  vain. 
I  passed  flag  after  flag,  but  they  were  all  of  some  other' 
regiment. 

Non-commissioned  officers  were  calling  out  "This 
way  for  the  One  Hundred  and  Seventh  New  York, ' ' 
"Here  is  the  Twenty -seventh  Indiana,"  "Fall  in,  Third 
Wisconsin,"  and  such  cries,  which  facilitated  matters 
considerably,  and  knowing  these  to  be  regiments  of  my 
own  brigade  I  felt  that  I  must  be  getting  pretty  close 
"at  home." 

And  I  was.  In  a  few  moments  more  I  heard  the 
welcome  cry,  "Thirteenth  New  Jersey,"  and  proceeded 
there. 

Was  this  the  Thirteenth  New  Jersey? 

There  were  the  well-known  colors,  sure  enough. 
And  there  was  Corneil  Mersereau,  poor  fellow,  holding 
the  flag — his  last  day  on  earth,  for  early  the  next  morn' 
ing  he  was  killed. 

"Hello,  Corneil,"  said  I,  "how's  my  boots?  All 
right?'' 

"Yes,  the  boots  are  all  right,"  he  replied.  "But  you 
can  have  them  in  the  morning.  I  wouldn't  have  them 
for  a  gift.     My  feet  are  covered  with  blisters." 

t:AJl  right,"  I  answered.  "I  will  take  them  back  in 
the  morning,  for  my  feet  seem  to  have  got  a  rest." 

But  I  never  wore  those  boots  again.  Mersereau  wa* 
killed  with  them  on  in  the  morning,  as  I  said  before. 


400  THE   TO UliQ    VOLUNTEER. 

The  Thirteenth  New  Jersey  Volunteers  never  pre- 
sented a  more  forlorn  aspect  than  they  did  that  night. 
When  they  arrived  there  were  not  a  hundred  men  there. 
They  had  all  become  scattered  in  the  wild  rush  of  the 
evening,  and  had  not  come  together  again.  But  one  by 
one  the  boys  came  straggling  in,  so  that  by  9  o'clock 
there  were  three  or  four  hundred  of  them.  The  most 
of  the  remainder  came  back  during  the  night. 

Some  never  came  back.  What  became  of  them  is 
not  known.  Whether  they  were  killed,  and  buried  as 
"unknown,"  or  whether  they  went  to  some  rebel  prison 
to  die  the  most  lingering  and  horrible  of  all  deaths,  is 
something  that  perhaps  will  never  be  known.  They  are 
down  on  the  matter  of  fact  army  rolls  as  "missing." 

Everything  went  crosswise  that  day  and  night.  By 
some  strange  fate  we  occupied  the  same  breastworks  we 
had  built  earlier  in  the  day,  and  there  were  the  steers' 
horns  just  as  we  had  placed  them,  looking  as  ferocious 
as  ever, 

But  we  were  on  the  other  side  of  the  breastworks. 
The  rebels  had  got  around  on  the  side  we  had  occupied 
in  the  forenoon,  and  we  had  got  around  to  their  position. 
Everything  seemed  to  have  been  turned  topsy-turvy. 
That  'rout  of  the  Eleventh  corps"  was  one  of  the  worst 
panics  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  ever  experienced. 

There  was  no  chance  for  rest  that  night,  however. 
We  had  not  been  long  in  that  position  behind  the  breast- 
works before  we  were  again  ordered  to  move  forward. 

Scarcely  had  we  started  when  there  began  a  rattle  of 
musketry  in  front  of  us,  and  a  roar  of  artillery  in  the 
rear ! 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  401 


CHAPTER  LXXIV. 

SHOOTING  OUR  OWN  MEN. 

It  was  right  here  that  General  Stonewall  Jackson 
was  killed. 

General  Jackson  was  one  of  the  ablest  officers  on  the 
Confederate  side.  His  only  superior,  either  in  rank  or 
ability,  on  the  side  of  the  rebels  was  General  Robert  E. 
Lee. 

It  seems  that  General  Jackson,  flushed  with  the  suc- 
cess of  his  early  evening  maneuver,  which  resulted  in 
the  disastrous  repulse  of  the  Eleventh  corps,  undertook  to 
follow  up  his  advantage. 

He  ordered  General  Hill's  division  to  the  front,  and  it 
was  the  firing  from  these  troops  that  we  had  just  heard. 
General  Jackson,  accompanied  by  his  staff,  rode  for- 
ward to  examine  the  position  of  things  personalty.  The 
Union  pickets,  under  General  Berry's  command,  heard 
him  coming  and  fired. 

Jackson  fell  back  toward  his  own  line,  but  in  a  differ- 
ent place  from  where  he  had  started.  Hill's  (Confed- 
erate) troops,  mistaking  Jackson  and  his  staff  for  the 
Union  troops,  fired  upon  them,  killing  and  wounding 
half  the  escort,  and  fatally  wounding  General  Jackson. 

So  Stonewall  Jackson  was  killed  by  his  own  men,  and 
not  by  the  troops  of  the  Northern  army. 

Suddenly  the  firing  ceased.  The  rattle  of  the 
musketry  in  front  and  the  booming  of  the  cannon  in  our 
rear  stopped  almost  simultaneously,  as  if  from  a  pre- 
concerted signal. 

The  command  of  the  Thirteenth  Regiment  had  fallen 
on  Captain  Beardsley,  the  senior  line  officer,  all  the 
members  of  the  field  and  staff  being  either  absent  or 
wounded.  I  remember  how  he  walked  up  and  down 
the  line  behind  us,  urging  us  to  be  calm  and  cool,  and 
advising  us  to  lie  close  to  the  ground,    We  did^iot  need 


iO%  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

a  second  admonition  of  the  latter  kind.  As  for  myself 
I  fairly  scooped  a  hole^  in  the  ground,  so  that  I  could 
snuggle  closer  and  be  out  of  the  way  of  any  stray  bul- 
lets that  might  come  along. 

About  midnight,  Burney's  division  of  Sickles'  corps 
made  an  attack  on  the  enemy.  The  moon  had  come  out 
and  it  was  quite  light  in  the  open,  although  dark 
enough  in  the  woods.  The  ground  that  we  occupied 
was  composed  of  alternate  open  spaces  and  dense  patches 
of  woods. 

The  moonlight  charge  on  the  enemy  aroused  them  like 
a  broken  hive  of  angry  hornets,  and  immediately  there 
came  a  perfect  shower  of  bullets  whistling  over  our 
heads.  We  lay  only  a  short  distance  in  the  rear  of  the 
attacking  column. 

Then  the  Union  artillery  behind  us  began  their  can- 
nonading of  the  woods  in  which  the  rebels  were  massed. 
In  a  moment  or  so  there  commenced  the  worst  racket 
that  I  had  ever  heard. 

Upon  the  raised  ground,  some  quarter  or  half  a  mile 
in  our  rear,  the  guns  of  the  artillery  were  stationed.  We 
occupied  lower  ground,  but  the  mouths  of  the  cannon 
were  pointed  right  toward  us,  although  of  course 
with  elevated  aim.  Anybody  who  knows  anything 
about  it  is  aware  that  the  most  noise  and  most  concus- 
sion from  the  discharge  of  a  cannon  is  experienced  by 
those  in  front  of  the  guns.  The  noise  was  simply  ter- 
rific. A  hundred  summer  thunderstorms  combined 
could  not  come  anywhere  near  it. 

The  murderous  shot  and  shell  passed  directly  over 
our  heads.  In  the  night  the  burning  fuses  left  behind  a 
train  of  fire  like  a  sky  rocket.  This  made,  as  it  were, 
a  perfect  arch  of  fire  over  us.  The  rebel  artillery  re- 
plied. They  accepted  the  challenge  and  the  long  range 
duel  began. 

No  pen  could  describe  an  artillery  duel.  It  is  as  if 
all  the  demons  of  hell  were  let  loose  at  once.  The 
shrieking  shell,  the  deafening  thunder  of  the  cannons, 
the  fiery  arch  over  us,  the  shouts  of  the  men,  combined 
to  make  a  scene  the  like  of  which  is  indescribable. 

Occasionally  a  shell  would  prematurely  explode  in 
the  air,  and  the  fragments  would  scatter  in  every  direc- 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  403 

tion,  a  perfect  rain  of  broken  iron,  dealing  death  and 
destruction  where  the  missiles  might  fall.  Fortunately 
none  was  hurt  in  our  regiment,  although  there  were  a 
number  wounded  in  this  manner  in  other  commands. 

Once  or  twice  the  shells  from  the  opposite  sides  col- 
lided in  midair.  They  hurst  simultaneously  with  a 
terrific  crash. 

The  old  soldiers  could  distinguish  the  kind  of  a  can- 
non from  which  the  shell  was  fired  from  the  character 
of  the  noise  they  made  while  passing  through  the  air. 
Some  went  through  with  a  prolonged  shriek.  They 
were  Armstrongs.  Others  went  with  a  "chew-chew- 
chew,"  like  a  train  of  cars.  These  were  the  Whit- 
worths.  Then  again  there  was  a  peculiar  sort  of  a 
shell,  such  as  came  from  Best's  and  Hexamer's  batter- 
ies, that  seemed  almost  human.  Their  noise  could  be 
best  interpreted  as: 

"Where-is-he — where-is-he — where- is-he!" 

And  when  the  shell  struck  and  exploded,  some  of  the 
boys  would  answer : 

"There  he  is!" 

For  an  hour,  maybe  more,  this  infernal  artillery  duel 
continued,  till  we  were  almost  deafened.  Startling  as 
it  was  at  first,  the  men  finally  became  accustomed  to  it. 
They  talked  of  other  things  as  calmly  as  if  they  had 
been  at  home.  Many  even  went  to  sleep  and  perhaps 
dreamed — perhaps  dreamed  of  their  peaceful  homes ! 

It  is  wonderful  how  quickly  human  nature  can  adapt 
itself  to  circumstances.  It  is  marvelous  under  what 
conditions  a  soldier  can  sleep. 

After  a  long  while,  after  the  apparent  waste  of  a 
good  many  tons  of  iron  and  steel,  the  duel  came  to  an 
end.  It  did  not  stop  suddenly,  but  gradually  died 
down,  till,  after  a  desultory  explosion  now  and  then, 
everything  became  as  quiet  as  the  country,  and  so  far 
as  any  noises  were  concerned,  there  was  nothing  war- 
like to  be  thought  of. 

This  silence  was  so  intense  as  to  he  ominous.  Old 
soldiers  do  not  like  anything  mysterious.  Anything 
that  they  cannot  understand  they  regard  with  suspicion. 
A  silence  like  this,  under  such  circumstances,  meant 
that  something  was  up. 


404  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  .  ■     •      . 

There  was ! 

It  must  have  been  along  about  2  or  3  o'clock  in  the 
morning  when  suddenly,  from  the  woods  in  front  of  us, 
there  began  the  most  exciting  sort  of  a  racket.  There 
were  yells  and  cheers  and  discharges  of  musketry.  The 
line  of  Union  troops  immediately  in  front  of  us  had  ap- 
parently become  engaged  with  the  enemy. 

A  singular  thing  struck  us,  however.  The  yell  that 
the  rebels  were  indulging  in  was  not  the  regular  ''rebel 
yell." 

When  the  Union  troops  cheered  their  cry  was  a  suc- 
cession of  "  Hurrahs, "  generally  repeated  three  times. 
The  rebel  war-cry  was  more  continuous  and  unbroken, 
a  sort  of  "Hi-yi-yi-yi-yi!" 

It  was  not  the  rebel  "Hi-yi-yi"  that  came  from  the 
troops  in  front  of  us,  and  which  were  shooting  in  our 
direction.  It  was,  on  the  contrary,  the  regular 
"hurrah"  of  the  North! 

What  could  this  mean? 

"Oh,  that's  plain  enough  to  understand,"  said  Lieu- 
tenant Wells.  "The  rebels  have  adopted  our  hurrah  to 
deceive  us.  They  are  using  it  as  a  surprise  or  a  decoy. 
It  is  an  old  trick  of  the  Johnnies." 

We  all  thought  that  this  was  a  good  explanation,  for 
there  was  no  doubt  entertained  that  the  opposing  forces 
in  our  front  were  those  of  the  enemy. 

The  fight  continued  for  some  little  time.  We  were 
just  beginning  to  think  it  was  about  time  for  the  Thir- 
teenth to  take  the  place  of  the  line  actively  engaged  in 
front,  when  suddenly  an  unexpected,  a  startling  thing 
occurred. 

Our  side  had  made  a  little  charge  and  captured  a 
number  of  prisoners.  The  fighting  had  been  in  the 
woods,  where  it  was  quite  dark.  Neither  side  could  see 
the  other.  The  muskets  had  been  aimed  and  fired  from 
the  sound  rather  than  at  any  body  of  troops,  for  it  was 
too  dark  to  distinguish  the  troops. 

But  when  the  prisoners  were  brought  in,  and  taken 
out  in  the  open  field  where  the  moonlight  was  brighter, 
a  terrible  discovery  was  made. 

We  had  been  fighting  Union  soldiers!  We  had  been 
shooting  our  own  men ! 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  405 


CHAPTER  LXXV. 

NOW  FOR  THE  GREAT  FIGHT. 

At  this  moment  General  Ruger  rode  up. 

"For  God's  sake,"  he  shouted,  "stop  this!  Cease 
firing !  Send  some  one  out  to  tell  them  that  these  are 
our  men." 

To  send  some  one  on  this  errand  was  rather  danger- 
ous work.  It  was  like  flying  in  the  face  of  death  to  go 
forth  and  inform  the  opposing  army  they  were  making 
a  mistake. 

But  there  were  brave  men  in  those  famous  dajrs  of 
the  war.  Volunteers  there  were  in  plenty.  These  mes- 
sengers of  peace  started  on  their  dangerous  journey,  and 
some  of  them  succeeded,  by  making  a  detour,  in  getting 
around  to  the  commander  and  explaining  the  fact  that 
they  were  fighting  their  own  men. 

The  shooting  stopped,  and  we  advanced  and  mingled 
with  the  men  we  had  just  been  trying  to  kill.  Then 
the  mistake  was  verified.  We  men  in  blue  had  been 
really  fighting  other  men  in  blue,  shooting  them  down 
like  dogs. 

I  don't  think  anything  ever  happened  during  the  war 
more  heartrending.  The  pdea  that  we  had  been  shoot- 
ing at  our  own  men  was  something  terrible.  The  feel- 
ing we  experienced  was  indescribable. 

And  there  on  the  ground  they  lay,  brave  boys  in  blue, 
some  already  still  in  death,  some  writhing  and  strug- 
gling in  their  last  agony,  many  grievously  wounded. 
Shot  by  their  own  fellows ! 

It  was  horrible ! 

We  had  fallen  into  precisely  the  same  sort  of  a  mis- 
take as  happened  when  General  Stonewall  Jackson  was 
killed. 

Some  of  the 'Union  soldiers  further  in  the  advance 


40 G  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

had  been  ordered  to  change  position.  In  making  the 
movement  they  passed  to  the  front  of  what  had  previ- 
ously been  the  advance  guard.  The  latter,  not  being 
able  to  distinguish  blue  from  gray  in  the  dark,  naturally 
took  them  to  be  the  enemy. 

The  Union  troops  changing  position,  being  thus  as- 
saulted, of  course  imagined  that  the  rebels  had  got  in 
the  rear,  and  turned  upon  them.  Each  thought  the 
other  the  enemy,  and  thus  the  nocturnal  battle  began. 

The  discovery  of  the  terrible  mistake  nearly  threw 
the  Union  soldiers  on  both  sides  of  the  engagement  in  a 
panic.  For  some  time  they  were  completely  demoral- 
ized. The  criticism  the  officers  received  for  the  blunder 
was  unlimited.  It  was  also  unjust,  for  it  could  not  well 
have  been  avoided.  But  the  men  were  so  indignant  at 
the  occurrence  that  they  were  altogether  unreasonable. 
Under  the  sad  circumstances  of  the  case  it  was  only 
natural. 

There  was  a  disposition  on  the  part  of  both  officers 
and  men  that  this  night  fighting,  when  friend  could  not 
be  distinguished  from  foe,  ought  to  be  stopped.  And  it 
was  stopped.  No  orders  were  given,  but  it  appeared 
to  be  a  tacit  understanding  that  whatever  further  fight- 
ing there  was  to  be  done  would  be  deferred  till  after 
dajdight. 

We  remained  lying  on  the  ground  for  the  remainder 
of  the  night.  We  hugged  our  rifles  as  our  bedfellows, 
for  there  was  no  telling  when  there  might  be  another 
attack  from  some  source.  There  was  not  much  sleep 
after  that.  The  men  were  all  too  much  excited.  The 
episodes  of  the  night  had  been  too  enervating  to  permit 
of  slumber  even  on  the  part  of  the  most  calloused. 

Everybody  instinctively  knew  now  that  the  great 
battle  was  on.  Everybody  appreciated  the  fact  that  the 
morrow  would  be  the  decisive  day.  It  was  felt  that  the 
righting  would  begin  at  daylight. 

But  it  did  not. 

It  was  as  beautiful  a  morning  as  the  Lord  ever  made. 
It  was  Sunday — the  first  Sunday  in  May.  I  distinctly 
remember  what  a  beautiful  morning  it  was,  how  all 
nature  seemed  to  smile,  how  peaceful  it  all  appeared. 

There  was  not  the  first  sound  of  battle  anywhere. 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  40? 

The  birds  were  singing  in  the  branches  of  the  trees,  that 
were  soon  to  be  torn  asunder  with  shrieking  shot  and 
shell.  The  men  were  standing  or  lying  around,  talking 
quietly  and  wondering  what  was  going  to  happen  next. 
In  the  distance  could  be  heard  an  occasional  bugle  call 
or  some  drum  signal,  and  mounted  aids  and  orderlies 
galloped  about  as  if  delivering  orders,  but  otherwise 
everything  was  remarkably  quiet. 

Before  daylight  along  came  that  ominous  ration  of 
fresh  beef — so  indicative  of  approaching  carnage.  We 
were  being  fed  for  the  battle. 

"There's  a  schlaughter-haus  somewhere  by  here 
alretty,"  said  John  Ick,  who  had  been  remarkably 
quiet  during  the  past  day  and  night. 

"It's  quite  evident,  John,"  I  replied,  "for  here  is 
some  of  the  beef  that  has  been  slaughtered." 

"We  vill  be  schlaughtered  dot  way  our  own  sellefs,  I 
tinks  so  mit,"  replied  John  Ick  in  his  broken  English. 
"We  vas  goin'  to  haf  some  bad  fights  before  much 
longer,  ain't  it?" 

"Oh,  don't  get  the  blues,  John,"  I  said. 

Those  were  the  last  words  I  ever  addressed  to  John 
Ick.  That  was  the  last  time  I  ever  heard  his  voice. 
The  next  time  I  saw  him  he  was  dead. 

Even  while  we  were  talking  there  came  the  sound  of 
a  cannon. 

It  was  but  a  single  shot.  A  moment  later  it  was  an- 
swered by  another,  further  down  the  line.  Then  another 
and  another,  gradually  becoming  so  distant  that  it  could 
scarcely  be  heard. 

Well  enough  did  we  know  what  that  meant.  It  was 
the  signal ! 

It  was  the  signal  for  the  great  battle  to  begin. 

And  thus,  on  that  quiet,  beautiful  Sunday  morning, 
May  3, 1863,  began  the  battle  of  Chancellorsville  proper. 
Of  course  all  the  occurrences  of  the  two  preceding  days 
were  a  part  of  the  battle.     They  were  the  preliminaries. 

But  now  the  great  conflict  itself  was  to  commence. 

The  battlefield  extended  from  where  we  were,  on  the 
extreme  right  at  Chancellorsville,  to  far  beyond  Freder- 
icksburg, sixteen  miles  or  so  below. 

All  along  the  river  we  had  advanced  across  to  the 


408  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

enemy's  side  and  challenged  him  on  his  own  soil.  The 
rebels  had  a  clear  space  of  country  to  fall  back  upon. 
We  were  backed  by  the  river.  We  felt  that  we  could 
not  retreat  if  we  desired.  But  ,no  one  thought  of  re- 
treating on  the  Northern  side  that  day.  We  expected 
to  "drive  the  enemy  ignominiously  from  his  lair,"  as 
General  Hooker  had  put  it  in  his  famous  order  only  two 
days  previous. 

The  Union  cannon  signals  were  at  once  repeated  on 
the  rebel  side,  summoning  that  army  to  battle  array. 
It  sounded  like  the  acceptance  of  a  challenge.  Tto 
gauntlet  which  we  had  thrown  down  had  been  picked 
up  by  our  antagonists ! 

Immediately  there  was  a  commotion  all  over.  Corps 
commanders,  surrounded  by  their  staffs,  could  be  seen 
galloping  from  the  vicinity  of  General  Hooker's  head- 
quarters at  the  old  Chancellorsville  house  to  the  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  field  where  their  commands  were 
located. 

Orderlies  and  messengers  dashed  hither  and  thither. 
Flying  artillery  earned  its  name  by  flying  to  advanta- 
geously elevated  positions  further  in  the  advance. 
Great  bodies  of  cavalry  galloped  off  somewhere. 

Here  and  there,  in  the  rear,  we  could  see  the  staffs 
stuck  in  the  ground  from  the  tops  of  which  waved  a 
yellow  flag.  Arranged  in  rows  near  these  ominous  yel- 
low flags  of  the  surgical  and  hospital  departments,  we 
could  see  the  ambulances,  all  in  waiting  for  their  hor- 
rible freight,  for  soon  their  passengers  would  be  dis- 
membered and  mutilated  human  beings. 

The  surgeons  took  off  their  coats,  rolled  up  their  shirt 
sleeves,  and  placed  their  glittering  array  of  knives  and 
saws  handy  within  reach  on  trays.  Attendants  super- 
intended the  placing  of  splints  and  bandages  and  piles 
of  lint. 

They  were  getting  read}r  to  mend  the  men  soon  to  be 
broken. 

I  think  this  affected  me  more  than  anything  else. 
Would  I  be  one  of  those  soon  to  fall  into  the  surgeon's 
hands?  Or  would  some  cruel  and  relentless  bullet  do 
its  work  so  effectively  that  no  surgeon  would  be  needed? 

They  say  that  in  the  navy  the  worst  moment  is  when 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  409 

the  sailors  sprinkle  sand  on  the  decks  to  absorb  the 
blood  of  the  men  to  be  killed  and  wounded,  so  that  the 
living  will  not  slip  while  in  the  performance  of  their 
grewsome  work!  In  the  army,  I  imagine  that  the 
supreme  moment  of  mental  torture  is  when  one  con- 
templates the  systematic  preparations  of  the  surgeons, 
as  just  feebly  described. 

But  something  else  very  soon  took  our  attention  from 
the  surgeons  and  everything  else  rearward. 

A  sudden  commotion  in  front  of  us.     A  crash ! 

And  the  bullets  began  to  whizz  past  and  over  us  like 
hail,  literally  like  hail ! 


410  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LXXVI. 

SURROUNDED  BY  DEATH. 

Literally  like  hail  flew  the  wicked  minie  bullets 
over  and  around  us ! 

When  bullets  come  along  singly,  or  in  twos  or  threes, 
they  come  with  a  buzz  and  a  zip,  very  similar  to  a  big 
bumble  bee  flying  past  you  and  striking  against  a  fence 
or  a  barn.  But  imagine,  if  you  can,  the  sudden  capsiz- 
ing of  a  thousand  hives  of  big  bees  and  the  simultane- 
ous release  of  the  insects. 

The  single  buzz  would  become  one  continuous  hum 
or  whirr.  And  so  became  the  noise  of  the  thousands  of 
bullets  that  now  whistled  around  and  above  us ! 

I  say  "above"  because  we  were  just  then  lying  flat 
upon  the  ground,  waiting  for  our  turn  to  become  ac- 
tively engaged  in  the  battle  that  was  raging  in  all  its 
fury.  The  Second  Massachusetts  and  Third  Wisconsin 
had  been  ordered  in  first.  The  Thirteenth  New  Jersey, 
Twenty-seventh  Indiana  and  One  Hundred  and  Seventh 
New  York  were  waiting  there  to  relieve  the  first  two 
mentioned  reigments  when  they  should  have  exhausted 
their  ammunition  or  have  been  driven  back  or  annihi- 
liated ! 

I  heard  a  voice,  low,  cool,  calm,  behind  me.  I  turned 
my  head  and  saw  Captain  Beardsley,  who,  as  before 
said,  was  in  command  of  our  regiment  just  then.  The 
rest  of  us,  officers  and  men  alike,  were  hugging  the 
earth  for  all  we  were  worth,  so  as  to  expose  as  little  of 
our  bodies  as  possible  to  the  storm  of  missiles  flying 
about  us.  But  there  stood  Captain  Beardsley,  erect, 
courageous,  unexcited,  as  cool  and  collected  as  if  he 
were  in  the  peaceful  street  of  a  city,  utterly  regardless 
of  the  bullets  whistling  around  him,  and  of  the  shells 
that  now  and  then  exploded  close  by!  I  was  struck 
with  amazement  at  such  an  exhibition  of  bravery. 

r 


r  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  41 1 

"Keep  cool,  men,"  said  he,  in  that  calm,  low  voice  of 
his,  "keep  perfectly  cool,  lie  low,  and  don't  get  excited. 
Be  calm.     Keep  cool  now!" 

Keep  cool !  I  couldn't  have  kept  cool  to  save  my  life. 
I  was  fairly  burning  up  with  the  fever  of  terror  and  ap- 
prehension. My  tongue  was  hard  and  dry,  and  I  could 
hardly  have  spoken  if  I  had  tried.  And  yet,  although 
fchus  hot,  I  was  shivering,  not  from  cold,  of  course,  but 
from  very  fear. 

Some  men  pretend  not  to  have  been  afraid  in  the  be- 
ginning of  a  battle.  It  is  my  opinion  that  such  men 
deliberately  lie.  I  think  every  man  there  was  fright- 
ened. Captain  Beardsley  was  outwardly  calm,  but  he 
was  as  white  as  a  corpse,  and  I  doubt  not  that  he  was 
fully  as  terrified  as  the  rest  of  us,  but  he  was  too  much 
of  a  man  to  show  it. 

I  think  the  inaction  of  the  moment,  coupled  with  the 
knowledge  that  it  was  "our  turn  next,"  was  a  thousand 
times  worse  than  it  was  for  those  actively  engaged  a 
hundred  yards  or  so  ahead  of  us.  In  times  of  danger 
there  is  nothing  like  activity  to  keep  the  mind  from 
constantly  thinking,  dreading,  apprehending.  Great 
calamities  are  magnified  by  apprehension,  the  same  as 
pleasures  are  enhanced  in  the  anticipation. 

As  I  turned  my  head  still  close  to  the  ground,  to  look 
at  Captain  Beardsley,  a  staff  officer  rode  up  to  the  cap- 
tain to  give  him  some  order.  Perhaps  it  might  have 
been  the  order  for  the  Thirteenth  to  advance!  It  was 
Adjutant-General  "Williams,  of  our  division.  As  he 
leaned  over  the  neck  of  his  horse  to  speak  the  word  to 
Captain  Beardsley,  I  saw  a  terrible  sight. 

Suddenly  the  chin  and  lower  jaw  of  the  adjutant-gen- 
eral disappeared  entirely !  In  its  place  was  a  mass  of 
blood,  raw  flesh  and  gore !  A  piece  of  shell  had  come 
along  and  torn  away  the  entire  lower  portion  of  his 
face.  One  could  not  see  pieces  of  shell  in  their  flight, 
so  rapidly  did  they  go,  but  the  effect  could  be  seen, 
which  made  it  seem  as  mysterious  as  it  was  horrifying. 

The  adjutant-general  sat  still  on  his  horse  for  an  in- 
stant, with  the  blood  gushing  from  his  neck  in  a  great 
stream.  Then  he  reeled  and  felL  He  soon  bled  to 
death  where  ho  lay. 


412  "      .   THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

I  involuntarily  shrieked !  A  man  lying  almost  a]~*ag- 
side  of  me,  a  member  of  Company  I  (for  I  was  the  last 
man  in  Company  K's  line),  raised  his  head  to  see  what 
was  the  matter. 

It  was  his  death !  Even  while  I  looked  at  him,  I  saw 
a  little  red  spot  appear  on  the  side  of  his  forehead,  the 
head  fell  back,  the  man  gave  a  convulsive  stretch,  and 
was  dead ! 

If  I  had  been  hugging  the  ground  closely  before,  I 
fairly  wallowed  in  the  dirt  after  that ! 

From  where  I  lay  I  could  see  some  distance  down  the 
side  of  the  slope  where  we  were  located.  The  field  pre- 
sented a  scene  of  devastation.  The  bodies  of  horses  and 
men  could  be  seen  lying  everywhere.  Some  were  silent 
in  death;  others  were  writhing  in  their  last  agony. 
Broken  ammunition  wagons,  dismounted  cannons,  ac- 
couterments,  rifles  and  other  debris  were  scattered  all 
over  the  field.  A  dense  smoke  hovered  over  the  scene, 
giving  the  atmosphere  a  lurid  glow.  Everything 
seemed  on  fire !  Everything  appeared  to  be  red — the 
color  of  blood. 

I  saw  a  mounted  orderly  galloping  across  the  field. 
Suddenly,  as  if  by  magic,  the  head  of  the  horse  flew  off! 
It  literally  disappeared !  An  exploding  shell  had  de- 
capitated the  animal  while  on  a  gallop. 

And  yet,  strange  to  relate,  that  horse  actually  gave 
two  more  leaps  before  it  fell !  The  muscular  action  of 
the  gallop  had  continued  two  jumps  before  the  nerves 
could  telegraph  the  word  that  the  horse  had  received  its 
death  stroke. 

Then  the  animal  fell,  in  a  somersault,  throwing  the 
rider  some  distance,  and  apparently  stunning  him,  for  I 
did  not  see  him  move  again.  Aghast,  I  turned  my 
head  to  the  ground ! 

But  only  for  a  minute,  for  then  came  the  order  which 
we  had  been  awaiting,  yet  dreading. 

"Fall  in,  Thirteenth!" 

It  was  Captain  Beardsley  who  spoke,  cool  and  calm 
as  ever. 

"Steady  now,"  he  said.  "Don't  get  excited!  Keep 
cool!" 

We  were  ordered  forward,  and  I  thought  our  time  had 


THE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER.  413 

Come.  I  couldn't  conceive  how  any  man  could  stand  erect 
in  that  storm  of  flying  missiles,  and  live  a  second. 

We  arose  to  our  feet  and  were  ordered  forward  ! 

I  can  hardly  say  that  I  arose  to  my  feet.  I  distinctly 
remember  crouching  down  as  much  as  possible,  so  that  I 
almost  crept  as  we  moved  forward,  perhaps  a  hundred 
feet.  Here  we  were  again  halted,  and  every  man  dropped 
prostrate,  as  if  shot,  and  once  more  we  hugged  the 
ground. 

Here  a  new  danger  confronted  us.  We  had  before 
been  just  outside  the  woods.  Now  were  lying  a  short 
distance  in  the  forest.  The  cannon  balls  and  shells  were 
crashing  through  the  branches  of  the  trees  over  our  heads, 
and  there  was  a  continual  fall  of  the  limbs  as  they  were 
cut  off.  It  did  not  take  long  to  transform  those  trees  into 
telegraph  poles,  but  the  rain  of  the  branches  while  it 
lasted  was  almost  as  dangerous  as  the  duly  recognized 
ammunition  of  the  ordnance  department.  Several  of  the 
men  were  so  severely  hurt  thereby  that  they  had  to  be 
removed  to  the  rear. 

The  cannonading  by  this  time  had  become  incessant, 
uproarious,  deafening !  The  bullets  were  whistling  past 
us  more  wickedly  than  ever.  The  tree  limbs  were 
dropping  among  us.  There  was  death  staring  us  in  the 
face,  apparently  from  every  direction. 

In  our  new  position  we  could  see  the  enemy  just  be- 
yond the  Second  Massachusetts  and  Third  Wisconsin 
regiments  ahead  of  us.  The  union  side  had  slightly 
the  advantage  of  the  position,  for  the  ground  was  gently 
declining  and  the  rebels  were  somewhat  lower  than  their 
opponents.  But  the  rebels  had  reached  an  old  stone  fence, 
which  they  were  utilizing  as  a  breastwork,  and  this  made 
chances  about  even. 

As  the  Confederate  host  loaded  and  fired  their  guns, 
they  looked  like  a  lot  of  devils  in  a  war-d;mce.  The 
upward  movement  of  the  arms  in  manipulating  the  long, 
old-fashioned  ramrods,  made  them  look  for  all  the  world 
as  if  they  were  dancing. 

We  could  hear  the  battle  cries  of  the  opposing  armies 
— the  continuous  "  Hi-yi-yi "  of  the  rebels,  and  the  well- 
known  three  cheers  of  the  union  men.  These  were  given 
alternately  as  each  side  wavered  or  advanced, 


414  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.      >  '  ' 

The  two  battle  lines  appeared  to  advance  and  recede, 
like  the  waves  at  the  seashore,  so  that  it  looked  at  one 
moment  as  if  the  Confederates  were  retreating  and  the 
next  as  if  the  Union  side  had  been  driven  back.  Each 
side  would  then  cheer  when  it  advanced. 

There  is  something  inborn  in  human  nature  to  like  a 
contest  of  power.  The  staidest  citizen  becomes  excited 
and  interested  in  a  sparring  match,  a  wrestling  bout,  a 
horse  race,  or  any  sort  of  a  competition.  Even  in  the 
terrible  surroundings  of  that  battle,  I  distinctly  remem- 
ber the  arrival  of  a  new  interest  in  the  desperate  fight 
that  was  taking  place. 

It  is  when  this  moment  arrives  that  the  feeling  of 
fear  over  personal  safety  in  a  more  or  less  degree  leaves 
the  participant.  As  for  myself  I  will  not  say  that  I 
was  not  still  frightened — terribly  frightened ;  but  I  felt 
the  fear  not  altogether  disappearing,  but  being  over- 
shadowed by  the  interest  in  the  contest. 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  415 


CHAPTER  LXXVII. 
"load  and  fire  at  will." 

The  excitement  of  the  battle  had  effected  us  all  to  a 
great  extent,  as  related  in  the  previous  chapter.  At  the 
same  time  I  cannot  say  that  I  felt  any  very  intense 
desire  to  get  up  and  rush  forward  to  be  an  active  par- 
ticipant. 

Not  so  with  William  Lambert,  one  of  our  Company 
K  members.  He  had  become  more  interested  and  ex- 
cited than  the  rest  of  us.  Suddenly  jumping  to  his  feet, 
and  waving  his  gun  high  over  his  head,  he  yelled  out,  in 
a  voice  that  could  be  plainly  heard  even  in  that  tremen- 
dous din : 

' ' Come  on,  boys !     Come  on !     They're  running !     The 

cowardly are  running !     Come  on !     If  you're  not 

all  cowards,  come  on!" 

And  with  that  Lambert  rushed  ahead  and  was  soon 
in  the  ranks  of  one  of  the  regiments  ahead  of  us. 

In  less  than  two  minutes  Lambert  came  back ! 

This  time  he  did  not  have  his  rifle  with  him.  On  the 
contrary  he  was  carrying  something  else  in  one  of  his 
hands !  It  was  the  broken  remnants  of  one  of  his  arms ! 
It  had  been  struck  by  something  and  literally  torn  to 
shreds.  A  strip  of  skin  and  the  cloth  of  his  coat  sleeve 
prevented  its  falling  off  altogether,  but  what  there  was 
left  of  it  was  being  carried  in  the  other  hand.  That 
was  the  last  of  brave  William  Lambert's  fighting.  He 
went  to  the  rear,  had  his  arm  amputated,  went  to  the 
hospital,  and  was  discharged  when  he  got  well. 

I  have  just  told  how  Lambert  was  holding  his 
wounded  arm  in  his  well  hand  as  he  came  back  from  the 
battle  line.  That  was  typical  of  all  wounded  soldiers. 
There  is  an  involuntary  and  irresistible  desire  or  inclina- 


416  THE  TO  UN  a   VOLUNTEER. 

tion  to  take  hold  of  the  part  that  is  wounded,  as  if  to 
carry  it,  and  this  habit  became  so  recognized  by  the 
"boys"  that  they  invariably  referred  to  the  wounded 
member  as  "the  baby."  The  fact  that  wounded  men 
carried  their  injured  hands  and  arms  and  heads  so  care- 
fully and  tenderly,  naturally  created  the  term,  "baby." 

It  was  recognized  by  all  of  us  that  we  would  in  a  very 
short  time  be  precipitated  to  the  very  front  and  become 
actively  engaged  with  the  enemy.  I  involuntarily 
looked  around  and  glanced  at  such  of  my  companions  as 
were  near  enough  to  be  seen. 

Every  countenance  bore  a  peculiar  expression.  Every 
face  was  pale,  ashen  in  its  pallor,  and  yet  bore  a  strik- 
ing expression  of  determination. 

It  is  said  that  there  is  no  other  place  in  the  world 
where  a  man  gets  that  expression.  It  is  known  as 
"the  frenzy  of  battle." 

It  seems  as  if  a  man  under  these  circumstances  con- 
centrates all  his  energies,  all  his  power,  mental  and 
physical,  into  one  thing,  and  that  is  to  be  brave !  He 
becomes  an  animal.  His  eyes  have  the  same  glare  you 
see  in  the  eyes  of  dogs  as  they  stand  ready  to  spring  at 
each  others'  throats.  It  is  seen  in  the  eyes  of  a  bull  in 
the  fighting  ring.  It  is  the  glassy  expressions  of  death 
without  the  concomitant  of  despair.  It  is  the  look 
that  means  death — death  to  one  or  the  other.  I 
imagine  you  might  see  that  same  expression  in  the  faces 
of  two  men  who  are  about  to  fight  with  bowie  knives, 
"till  one  or  both  are  dead." 

In  poetry  and  history  it  is  called  the  look  of  "the 
frenzy  of  battle." 

I  turned  to  the  man  beside  me.     It  was  David  Harris. 

"How  do  you  feel,  Davy?"  I  asked.  I  found  that 
my  tongue  was  so  hard  and  dry  that  I  could  scarcely 
articulate. 

"I  wish  I  was  feeding  the  press  in  the  Guardian 
office,"  replied  he  with  a  sickly  smile — such  a  smile  as 
one  might  expect  from  a  corpse. 

I  glanced  in  the  direction  of  John  Ick  and  Eeddy 
Mahar.  Both  were  pale,  which  was  an  unusual  thing 
for  Mahar,  for  his  complexion  was  like  his  name — reddy. 

Down  on  the  end  of  the  line  I  saw  Corneil  Mersereau, 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUMTBEB.  417 

ftiid  wondered  if  my  boots  hurt  his  feet  as  they  did  mine. 
But  such  a  thing  as  blistered  feet  didn't  worry  one  at 
that  moment,  I  guess. 

I  noticed  John  Stansfield  and  Henry  Speer,  lying 
quietly,  saying  nothing,  pale;  like  the  rest,  and  having 
a  worried  expression.  On  the  other  side  of  me  lay  But- 
terworth,  my  faithful  "pard." 

"How  do  you  like  this,  Jack?  "  I  asked  him. 

"I  guess  we're  done  for,  Joe,"  he  answered,  quietly 
and  solemnly. 

"I  think  I  am  going  to  be  one  of  the  first  one  killed," 
I  replied.     And  I  really  felt  so. 

"I  would  rather  be  killed  outright  than  wounded  like 
some  of  these  fellows, ' '  said  Butterworth. 

And  the  way  some  of  "these  fellows"  were  wounded 
was  frightful.  There  was  passing  through  our  line  a 
perfectly  endless  stream  of  reddened,  mangled  human 
beings,  shot  in  every  imaginable  part  of  the  body. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  end  of  them.  It  made  me  won- 
der how  it  was  that  there  were  any  of  them  left  at  the 
front  to  fight. 

Some  of  our  men  had  been  detailed  to  carry  the  worst 
wounded  to  the  rear.  One  of  these  was  Jimmy  Pest. 
As  we  were  talking,  Post  and  another  man  came  along 
with  a  helplessly  wounded  man  in  a  blanket,  which 
they  were  carrying  with  the  ends  over  their  shoulders. 
The  wounded  man  sank  the  blanket  down  till  it  looked 
like  a  bag. 

"Whom  have  you  got  there?"  I  asked. 

"Some  poor  devil,"  replied  Jimmy.  "I  don't  know 
whether  he  is  dead  or  alive.  But  I  am  going  to  take 
him  back  to  the  doctor  anyhow." 

I  plainly  remember  how  Jimmy  Post  looked  on  that 
occasion.  He  was  naturally  very  ruddy,  with  a  face 
covered  with  freckles;  but  he  was  then  so  pale  that  it 
seemed  as  if  nothing  but  the  freckles  could  be  seen. 

Perhaps  the  terrific  noises  of  the  battle  prevented  one 
from  hearing  little  things,  and  maybe  that  is  the  reason 
why  I  failed  to  hear  much  from  the  wounded  men.  The 
soldiers  had  so  nerved  themselves  up,  as  it  were,  that 
they  were  in  a  condition  to  stand  terrible  pain  without 
complaining.     Horribly  wounded  men   made  no  sign 


418  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

whatever  of  being  in  agony.  Those  who  were  compar- 
atively slightly  wounded  seemed  to  be  actually  laugh- 
ing. The  more  seriously  hurt  perhaps  moaned  and 
groaned,  but  the  outcry  then  and  there  was  not  what 
would  have  been  expected. 

When  a  man  was  shot  through  the  abdomen,  it 
seemed  to  be  excruciatingly  painful,  and  he  would 
shriek,  as  he  writhed  and  rolled  on  the  ground,  like  a 
decapitated  chicken.  But  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
in  other  cases  the  victim  was  stunned,  so  that  there  was 
comparatively  little  pain  at  the  start,  and  consequently 
none  of  those  demonstrations  of  agony  that  might  be  ex- 
pected. It  is  unquestionably  the  fact  that  in  civil  life, 
perhaps  because  it  is  less  expected,  an  injured  person 
makes  considerably  more  of  a  demonstration  than  does 
a  soldier  in  battle. 

I  don't  know  how  long  we  remained  there  in  our  ad- 
vanced position,  waiting  for  our  turn  to  take  the  places 
of  those  actively  engaged  in  the  fight.  It  might  have 
been  hours,  it  might  have  been  seconds,  so  far  as  our 
sensations  were  concerned,  for  there  was  no  thought  of 
time.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  could  not  have  been  many 
minutes.     Then  came  the  long-awaited  order: 

''Fall  in,  Thirteenth!  Forward,  march!" 

iWe  marched  forward,  in  battle  array.  The  line  was 
wavering  and  unsteady,  but  as  good  as  could  have  been 
expected  under  the  circumstances.  As  before,  I  fairly 
crouched  on  the  ground  as  I  walked  along,  as  if  desir- 
ing to  present  a  less  surface  for  a  target  to  be  shot  at. 

It  was  the  very  worst  possible  thing  for  me  to  have 
done.  If  a  bullet  passes  through  a  man  (interesting 
thing  to  talk  about,  isn't  it?)  while  he  is  standing  in  a 
natural  position,  the  same  as  through  he  were  lying  in 
his  bed,  it  makes  it  the  easier  for  the  surgeon  to  probe 
the  wound  and  remove  the  ball.  If  he  is  twisted  out  of 
shape,  the  course  of  the  bullet  is  erratic,  and  to  trace  the 
ball  the  wounded  man  would  have  to  put  himself  in 
precisely  the  same  shape  he  was  at  the  moment  he  was 
wounded,  and  this  of  course  would  be  a  difficult  thing 
to  do. 

But  I  must  confess  that  I  "scrouged"  a  good  deal, 
and  tried  to  contract  my  body  into  the  smallest  possible 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  419 

compass.  And  no  wonder,  for  we  were  getting  into  the 
thick  of  the  fray,  and  the  bullets  were  whistling  past  us 
more  wickedly  than  ever. 

We  had,  in  obedience  to  orders,  removed  the  bayonets 
from  our  rifles,  so  that  they  could  be  loaded  the  more 
handily,  and  opened  the  lids  of  the  boxes  containing  our 
cartridges  and  percussion  caps.  We  were  ready  for  the 
fight. 

A  strange  feeling  began  to  come  over  me.  The  feel- 
ing of  fear  was  vanishing.  As  if  by  magic  the  strength 
appeared  to  come  to  my  legs  again,  and  they  no  longer 
shook  and  trembled.  I  suddenly  became  utterly  oblivi- 
ous to  personal  safety,  and  I  straightened  myself  up  as 
stiffly  as  if  I  were  on  dress  parade. 

For  an  instant,  the  briefest  sort  of  an  instant,  there 
flashed  through  my  mind  the  leading  events  of  my  past 
life,  and  they  as  suddenly  disappeared.  Everything 
was  forgotten  in  the  excitement — the  fighting  excite- 
ment of  the  moment.  I  was  possessed  by  a  sudden  and 
bloodthirsty  desire  to  kill  every  gray-backed  rebel  that 
I  saw  dancing  not  the  distance  of  a  city  block  in  front 
of  me. 

I  have  often  heard  old  soldiers  tell  of  this  feeling. 
While  all  honest  men  will  declare  that  at  the  com- 
mencement of  a  battle,  or  while  waiting  for  their  turn 
to  become  engaged,  they  are  frightened  out  of  their  five 
senses,  yet  when  they  actually  get  into  the  fight  all  this 
disappears.  I  never  believed  it,  but  it  turned  out  to  be 
true  in  my  case  as  in  others.  Every  trace  of  fear  and 
apprehension  disappeared,  and  for  the  time  being  I  was 
utterly  oblivious  to  any  feeling  of  danger. 

Slowly,  steadily  we  moved  forward. 

"Don't  shoot  till  you  receive  the  order,"  said  Captain 
Beardsley,  behind  us,  in  that  calm  voice  of  his — a  voice 
that  seemed  to  inspire  us  all  with  confidence  and  fear- 
lessness. 

This  made  me  wonder.  We  were  close  enough  to  the 
enemy  to  shoot.  We  could  almost  "see  the  whites  of 
their  eyes,"  to  use  a  revolutionary  simile.  Every  shot 
would  perhaps  have  taken  effect,  but  still  the  order  was 
not  to  shoot  till  we  received  the  order.  A  few  more  ex- 
cited soldiers  could  not  restrain  themselves  and  a  shot 


420  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

was  heard  here  and  there,  but  as  a  general  rule  the  men 
faithfully  obeyed  their  instructions  about  firing. 

The  men  in  our  ranks  began  to  fall.  I  remember 
plainly  the  case  of  Silas  Abbott,  who  was  immediately 
beside  me.  He  was  shot  through  the  abdomen.  He 
fell  on  the  ground  before  me,  rolled  in  the  dry  leaves  of 
the  forest,  twisted  and  turned,  and  contorted  his  con- 
vulsed body  in  a  manner  that  showed  he  was  suffering 
exquisite  torture.  Poor  fellow !  He  died  a  few  days 
later  from  the  effects  of  that  wound. 

But  it  did  not  seem  to  affect  me  very  much  then  and 
there.  My  sensibilities  and  feelings  appeared  to  have 
become  blunted.     I  cared  for  nothing. 

I  felt  a  sting  in  the  calf  of  my  leg,  and  glancing  down 
saw  the  blood  coming  from  the  bottom  of  my  trousers. 
But  it  didn't  hurt.  In  fact  the  only  inconvenience  was 
in  having  my  leg  wet,  and  it  was  warm.  The  warmth 
of  my  blood  appeared  to  have  no  more  effect  than  if  it 
had  been  a  cup  of  warm  coffee  that  had  been  spilled  on 
the  inside  of  my  pantaloons. 

I  was  too  much  excited  to  care  for  that.  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  to  stick  to  my  place  until  I  was  disabled. 

Another  bullet  scraped  along  my  side.  I  plainly  felt 
that  and  it  hurt  a  little,  but  still  I  had  no  intention  of 
retiring  from  the  field — as  some  of  them  perhaps  would 
have  done  under  the  circumstances. 

Still  the  men  kept  falling  around  me.  And  still  the 
order  was  repeated  not  to  fire  till  we  had  received  the 
order. 

I  felt  something  trickling  down  my  face. 

"Joe,  are  you  wounded?"  asked  little  William  J. 
Post,  who  stood  at  my  side. 

I  lifted  my  cap  and  brushed  my  hand  over  the  top  of 
my  head.  "When  I  looked  at  my  hand  it  was  covered 
with  blood.  But  I  never  would  have  known  that  I  was 
hurt  had  it  not  been  for  the  blood.  There  was  not  the 
slightest  pain.     It  turned  out  only  to  be  a  scalp  wound. 

The  reader  will  perhaps  think  that  the  author  was 
getting  peppered  pretty  well  about  this  time,  and  it  is 
the  truth.  The  writer  was  wounded  in  six  different 
places  in  that  battle,  and  some  of  the  wounds  subse- 
quently turned  out  to  be  quite  painful.     Two  of  the 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  421 

wounds,  however,  hurt  so  little  at  the  start  that  they 
were  actually  not  discovered  till  the  victim  had  an  op- 
portunity to  undress.  That  was  in  the  hospital.  But 
at  last  the  order  came  to  fire. 

We  were  close  upon  the  enemy.     "We  could  almost 
distinguish  their  countenances.     Perhaps  the  distance 
was  between  one  and  two  hundred  yards. 
Then  came  Captain  Beardsley's  order — 
"Attention,  Thirteenth!    Load  and  fire  at  willl" 


423  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LXXVIII. 

WOUNDED. 

The  order  to  "Load  and  fire  at  will!"  meant  for  us 
to  load  and  shoot  our  guns  as  fast  as  we  could,  and 
pepper  away  at  the  enemy  continuously,  without  fur- 
ther orders. 

My  rifle  was  already  loaded,  as  were  most  of  the 
others,  and  the  first  salute  the  rebels  received  from  the 
Thirteenth  might  appropriately  be  called  a  volley.  As 
soon  as  possible  after  firing  I  looked  in  the  direction  of 
the  enemy,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  number  was 
smaller  already !  Of  course  this  might  have  been  mere 
imagination. 

I  continued  to  load  and  shoot  as  fast  as  I  could.  I 
remember  Lieutenant  Wells,  who  was  in  command  of 
Company  K,  and  who  was  stationed  immediately  behind 
me,  cried  out : 

"Don't  shoot  too  high.  Aim  low.  Aim  at  their 
knees  and  you  will  hit  them." 

This  was  a  common  order.  In  the  act  of  aiming  and 
firing,  the  pull  on  the  trigger  or  something  else  would 
raise  the  muzzle  of  the  gun,  so  that  the  bullet  would 
pass  over  the  heads  of  the  men  aimed  at.  It  is  esti- 
mated that  this  peculiarity  is  the  reason  that  such  a  com- 
paratively small  number  of  men  were  killed  in  battle. 
The  bullets  aimed  at  them  went  over  their  heads. 

But  by  aiming  at  the  knees  of  the  enemy,  the  bullet 
would  go  about  right  to  hit  them  somewhere  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  body.  Of  course  there  was  more  or 
less  lateral  variation  in  the  course  of  the  bullets,  but 
that  made  less  difference,  for  as  the  soldiers  on  the  other 
side  stood  in  a  row,  if  one  of  them  was  not  hit,  the  next 
one  to  him  might  not  escape. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  423 

As  said,  I  continued  to  pepper  away.  I  loaded  and 
fired  my  rifle  at  fast  as  I  could  do  it.  It  took  some  time 
to  load  the  old-fashioned  muzzle-loading  muskets,  for 
there  was  the  cartridge  to  tear  open  with  the  teeth,  and 
it  had  to  be  rammed  down  home  with  the  ramrod,  tho 
percussion  cap  had  to  be  placed  on  the  nipple,  and  lots 
of  other  things  attended  to,  taking  perhaps  altogether  a 
minute,  maybe  two  minutes,  for  each  shot.  How  dif- 
ferent nowadays  with  the  breech -loading,  ready-made 
cartridge  guns,  with  which  all  that  is  necessary  is  to 
raise  and  lower  a  lever. 

Phew,  but  it  was  hot  work!  The  perspiration 
streamed  from  every  pore.  The  saltpeter  in  the  powder 
of  the  cartridges  got  into  one's  mouth,  makmg  him  ter- 
ribly thirsty.  The  men  wiped  the  sweat  from  their 
foreheads  with  their  powder-stained  hands,  which  they 
smeared  over  their  faces  till  they  looked  like  the  be- 
grimed stokers  of  an  Atlantic  liner. 

Pretty  soon  my  gun  began  to  get  very  hot.  It  was 
so  hot  that  I  could  hardly  handle  it,  and  I  had  to  take 
hold  of  the  wooden  part  of  the  stock  under  the  barrel. 
Then  it  began  to  expand  so  that  the  bullets  would  hardly 
go  into  the  bore.  One  would  naturally  think  that  when 
the  barrel  of  a  gun  expands  from  the  heat,  it  would 
make  the  hole  bigger,  but  the  contrary  is  the  case.  The 
metal  expands  on  the  inside  of  the  bore  and  makes  the 
hole  smaller.  I  followed  the  example  of  some  of  the 
other  fellows  and  jammed  the  bullet  in  by  putting  the 
end  of  the  ramrod  against  a  tree — for  be  it  remembered 
we  were  fighting  now  in  a  thick  woods. 

The  fact  that  the  men  were  falling  on  all  sides  of  me 
seemed  to  make  no  difference  what  happened.  All  that 
possessed  me  was  an  ardent  desire  to  do  my  part  in  kill- 
ing the  rebels  in  front  of  me,  and  there  is  not  the  slight- 
est doubt  that  some  of  them  were  laid  low  by  the  bullets 
that  came  from  my  gun,  for  I  took  deliberate  aim  every 
time. 

The  Thirteenth,  and  other  regiments  in  the  same  line 
of  battle,  seemed  to  waver  forward  and  backward.  The 
rebels  would  apparently  retreat,  when  we  would  ad- 
vance. Then  the  enemy  would  appear  to  come  nearer 
and  we  would  fall  back  again.     And  so  it  went,  back 


424  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

and  forth,  so  that  the  effect  was  to  preserve  about  the 
same  distance  between  the  two  contending  sides 
throughout. 

As  the  men  fell  out  of  the  ranks,  either  from  being 
killed  or  wounded,  we  were  ordered  to  "close  in  on  the 
colors."  That  meant  for  the  line  to  be  closed  in  and 
the  gaps  filled  up  as  fast  as  the  men  fell  out.  When 
the  battle  began  I  was  somewhere  about  two  hundred 
men  from  the  flags.  The  last  that  I  remember  look- 
ing at  them,  there  were  not  over  fifteen  or  twenty  men 
between  where  I  stood  and  the  colors.  That  shows  the 
way  the  Thirteenth  wat  being  mowed  down ! 

Several  times  I  saw  the  colors  drop  as  the  color  bear- 
ers were  disabled,  only  to  be  immediately  picked  up  by 
some  survivor.  Several  times  the  right  and  left  general 
guides  were  felled,  and  the  little  flags  they  carried  were 
seen  to  fall,  but  they  immediately  reappeared.  Once 
when  the  left  general  guide  colors  fell  they  were  being 
borne  by  my  comrade,  Cornelius  Mersoreau,  the  man 
who  wore  my  new  boots.     He  was  fatally  wounded. 

The  first  man  I  saw  hit  in  Company  K  was  Llew- 
ellyn J.  T.  Probert,  who  was  shot  dead.  Directly  Cor- 
poral Henry  Speer  dropped  out.  Then  in  turn  followed 
Isaac  Clark,  William  Freeland,  Alexander  Kidd, 
Francis  More,  John  J.  Nield,  William  J.  Post,  James 
W.  Vanderbeck,  Stephen  Carlough  and  others.  These 
wore  only  members  of  Company  K.  The  other  com- 
panies were  suffering  equally,  if  not  even  worse. 

Altogether  that  morning  the  Thirteenth  Regiment 
lost  eighteen  killed,  and  eighty-nine  wounded,  includ- 
ing seven  commissioned  officers. 

I  had  fired  perhaps  twenty  or  twenty-five  shots,  when 
suddenly — 

"Bing!" 

I  thought  that  somebodj^  had  hit  me  in  the  hand  with 
a  stone.  It  felt  exactly  as  if  it  was  a  blow  from  a  small 
stone  thrown  from  the  other  side  of  the  street. 

I  did  not  think  much  of  it,  for  the  moment,  but  when 
I  tried  to  lift  my  gun  to  fire  another  shot,  I  found  that 
my  hand  was  disabled,  and  looking  at  it,  saw  that  it 
was  covered  with  blood. 

The  little  finger  was  torn  to  pieces  and  the  side  of  my 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  425 

hand  shot  away.  What  was  left  of  the  little  finger  was 
pulled  over  the  back  of  the  hand  by  the  tendons.  I 
could  not  move  a  single  finger.     I  was  disabled ! 

I  remember  carefully  leaning  my  gun  against  a  tree. 
That  was  the  last  I  ever  saw  of  the  old  rifie  that  I  had 
carried  so  far,  that  I  had  so  often  cleaned  and  polished, 
and  that,  on  the  march,  at  times  seemed  to  weigh  at 
least  a  ton. 

I  turned  to  leave  the  ranks,  as  was  the  right  thing 
for  a  wounded  soldier  to  do,  when  Lieutenant  Wells  gave 
me  a  whack  on  the  back  with  the  flat  side  of  his  sword. 

"Get  back  into  the  ranks,"  he  cried.  He  thought 
that  I  was  skulking  or  had  been  seized  with  one  of  those 
panics  that  frequently  attack  soldiers  under  such  condi- 
tions. 

"But  I'm  wounded,  Heber,"  holding  up  my  bloody 
hand. 

"Oh,  all  right  then,"  ho  said.  "Get  back  to  a  doctor 
as  soon  as  you  can." 

Just  then  Lieutenant  Wells  raised  his  sword  aloft 
with  a  sort  of  hurrah,  and  while  I  looked  I  saw  that 
sword  fly  from  his  gi'asp  and  go  spinning  through  the 
air  perhaps  fifteen  or  twenty  feet.  It  had  been  struck 
by  a  bullet  or  something  and  knocked  out  of  the  lieu- 
tenant's hand. 

And  the  same  bullet  took  Wells'  first  finger  along 
with  the  sword. 

Heber  looked  at  his  hand  a  moment,  went  calmly  over 
and  got  his  sword,  and  then  joined  me  in  the  retreat  for 
the  rear,  on  our  mutual  search  for  a  surgeon  to  attend  to 
our  respective  hurts. 

On  going  back  to  the  rear  we  had  to  pass  down  the 
side  of  one  hill  and  up  another,  and  as  we  ascended  the 
latter  we  went  through  what  might  be  termed  a  verita- 
ble shower  of  lead.  Bullets  fairly  rained  around  us. 
We  could  see  them  strike  the  sod  and  tear  up  the  dirt, 
causing  a  puff  of  dust  to  arise.  It  seemed  even  hotter 
here  than  it  was  in  the  midst  of  the  battle  itself.  I 
have  since  thought  that  it  was  here  that  I  received  one 
of  those  minor  wounds  which  I  did  not  discover  till 
later,  although  of  course  that  is  only  conjecture.  At 
all  events  I  had  no  consciousness  of  being  hit  by  any- 
thing at  that  time. 


426  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

We  finally  got  back  to  a  place  where  we  found  a  yel- 
low flag  sticking  in  the  ground,  which  we  recognized  as 
the  stand  of  some  field  surgeon.  Here  were  a  lot  of 
other  wounded  men  and  we  had  to  wait  for  our  turn  at 
the  "slaughter  house,"  a3  John  Ick  would  have  called 
it  had  he  been  there. 

While  waiting  I  saw  something  that  I  never  saw  be- 
fore nor  afterward.  It  was  a  vivandiere.  She  was 
rather  a  pretty  girl,  only  for  the  fact  that  she  was 
tanned  and  sunburned  like  a  farmer  in  haying  time. 
She  wore  a  costume  which  was  very  much  like  the  latest 
make-up  of  the  female  hicj^clists — a  sort  of  zouave  dress, 
with  bloomers  and  leather  leggings. 

"Will  you  have  a  drink?"  she  asked;  and  then  I 
noticed  that  she  had  a  little  wooden  keg  hanging  at  her 
waist,  and  carried  a  tin  cup  in  her  hand. 

Would  I  have  a  drink?     Would  a  duck  swim? 

Of  course  I  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  she 
turned  a  little  spiggot  in  the  end  of  the  keg,  and  poured 
me  out  a  cup  full  of — 

It  was  brandy,  and  good  braudy  at  that.  Never  be- 
fore nor  afterward  did  a  drink  of  brandy  taste  so  good. 
I  didn't  ask  for  any  "chaser,"  for  I  didn't  want  any  in 
the  first  place  and  there  was  none  to  be  had  if  I  wanted 
it! 

That  drink  of  brandy  nerved  me  up  considerably,  and 
I  was  ready  for  almost  any  sort  of  a  surgical  or  other 
operation. 

Heber  Wells  was  by  this  time  having  his  wound  at- 
tended to.  The  doctor  was  a  young  fellow,  a  mere  boy, 
apparently  some  medical  student.  Everything  was 
pressed  into  the  service  in  those  times  that  could  handle 
a  carving  knife. 

I  watched  the  operation  on  Heber  with  some  trepida- 
tion.    He  winced  a  little  but  did  not  complain. 

"Does  it  hurt  much?"  I  asked,  very  much  interested. 

"No,"  he  replied.  "It's  nothing  more  than  a  snip  of 
the  scissors."  When  Heber  got  finished  up,  he  bade 
me  good-by,  saying  that  he  would  not  wait,  and  the 
young  doctor  turned  to  me. 

"Come,  it's  your  turn,"  said  he. 

I  held  my  hand,  and  he  examined  it  curiously.  Then 
he  stooped  down  and  picked  a  stout  twig. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  427 

"Here,"  said  he,  "hold  this  between  your  teeth." 

"What's  that  for?"  I  asked. 

"Something  for  you  to  bite  on,"  he  replied  coolly. 
"This  is  going  to  hurt  you  a  little  and  you  don't  want 
to  break  your  teeth,  do  you?" 

Then  he  took  my  hand  in  one  of  his  hands,  and  a 
blood-stained  knife  in  the  other ! 


428  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LXXIX. 
"for  the  love  of  god,  shoot  me." 

The  man  who  undertook  to  amputate  my  finger  and 
patch  up  my  mangled  hand,  was  a  butcher,  if  there  ever 
was  one  in  the  world.  He  did  not  know  any  more  about 
surgery  than  a  three  year  old  child.  There  were  so 
many  wounded  men  to  be  attended  to  there,  however, 
that  they  had  pressed  into  the  service  everybody  who 
knew  enough  to  handle  a  penknife,  and  the  fellow  who 
got  hold  of  me  must  have  been  either  a  medical  cadet 
or  a  hostler. 

He  went  at  me  as  if  he  was  going  to  carve  a  piece  of 
mutton  chop — perhaps  a  pork  chop  might  make  a  more 
appropriate  simile,  eh?  He  cut  and  sliced  and  muti- 
lated vc\j  hand  in  the  most  horrible  manner,  and  when 
he  got  to  the  bone  he  produced  a  pair  of  nippers  similar 
to  those  used  by  the  electricians  of  the  present  day  to 
cut  small  wires,  and  with  that  he  nipped  off  the  broken 
bones  of  my  finger  and  hand  that  protruded  from  the 
flesh. 

It  was  well  that  ^he  had  given  me  the  twig  to  bite 
upon,  or  I  should  certainly  have  broken  my  teeth,  for  I 
chewed  that  thick  stick  into  mince.  The  recommenda- 
tion to  hold  that  twig  between  my  teeth  was  about  the 
only  degree  of  intelligence  manifested  by  that  amateur 
human  butcher. 

When  he  had  got  through  with  having  all  the  fun  he 
wanted  out  of  me,  he  turned  me  over  to  a  still  less  ex- 
perienced young  man  to  bandage  up  the  wound,  and 
that  was  done  in  a  bundle  so  large  that  it  looked  as  if  I 
had  on  a  big  white  boxing-glove.  I  cannot  describe 
how  much  that  little  operation  pained  me.  I  did  not 
make  any  outward  demonstration,  but  it  was  all  that  I 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  429 

could  do  to  keep  from  crying  out  loud.  I  took  satisfac- 
tion out  of  the  stick  between  my  teeth. 

While  I  was  there  the  wounded  were  being  taken 
past  in  a  perpetual  string,  some  being  carried  by  the 
arms  and  legs,  others  on  stretchers,  and  still  more  being- 
supported  between  two  comrades.  Among  these  were 
many  of  the  members  of  the  Thirteenth  Regiment,  and 
some  of  them  were  terribly  wounded. 

I  remember  seeing  Adjutant  Thomas  B.  Smith,  who 
was  badly  hurt  somewhere  about  the  body.  Then  they 
brought  along  Lieutenant  George  G.  Whitfield,  of  Com- 
pany A,  who  was  horribly  wounded  on  the  head.  He 
was  on  a  stretcher,  and  his  head  seemed  one  mass  of 
gore,  and  he  writhed  around  on  the  stretcher  in  a  way 
that  made  one's  blood  run  cold.  Poor  fellow,  he  died  a 
couple  of  days  later. 

Pretty  soon  I  saw  some  men  assisting  from  the  field  a 
man  from  Company  C,  whom  I  recognized  as  George  H. 
Comer.  His  arm  had  been  so  badly  wounded  that  it 
had  to  be  cut  off.  Then  I  saw  many  other  acquaint- 
ances come  along,  wounded  in  one  way  or  another. 

Among  these  I  remember  George  Baitzel,  Freeborn 
Garrison,  Charles  B.  Burris,  David  Burris,  Amzi 
Brown,  John  C.  Crawford,  Andrew  Leise,  R.  B.  Man- 
ning, Jacob  Mickler,  William  Parker,  Gilbert  Smith, 
and  others.  Some  of  these  are  still  living,  but  others 
have  answered  their  last  roll  call. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  state  the  exact  loss  of  the 
Thirteenth  in  killed  and  wounded  at  the  battle  of  Chan- 
cellorsville.  The  official  number  has  been  given  in  a 
previous  chapter,  but  it  is  known  that  it  was  consider- 
ably larger.  After  every  battle  there  was  always  a 
number  put  under  the  head  of  "Missing,"  and  it  was 
never  known  what  became  of  them,  and  these  should 
perhaps  be  placed  in  the  list  of  killed. 

On  the  other  hand  some  of  these  that  were  "missing" 
after  a  battle  turned  up  after  many  years,  with  a  more 
or  less  accurate  account  of  their  doings.  There  have 
been  many  Enoch  Arden  cases  of  this  nature. 

The  "missing"  department  of  the  rolls  of  a  regiment 
after  a  battle  is  one  of  the  most  wonderful  and  mysteri- 
ous features  of  a  war. 


430  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

After  having  had  my  wounded  hand  dressed  I  started 
to  go  to  the  rear.  To  the  rear  is  a  term  universally 
used  as  going  in  the  other  direction  than  the  front.  It 
is  also  always  supposed  that  there  is  a  haven  of  refuge 
and  retreat  somewhere  in  the  rear,  and  that  is  the  ob- 
jective point  of  all  wounded  soldiers.  There  was  a  per- 
fect procession  of  more  or  less  severely  wounded  men 
strolling  rearward  and  I  joined  this  parade. 

I  passed  the  old  Chancellorsville  house,  which  was 
General  Hooker's  headquarters,  and  was  an  eye-witness 
of  the  accident  that  occurred  to  General  Hooker  on  that 
morning.  There  have  been  many  versions  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  was  wounded,  but  I  can  give  the  facts, 
for  I  was  not  far  distant  from  him  when  it  happened. 
I  bad  stopped  to  look  at  the  old  fighting  general,  whom 
I  recognized,  standing  on  the  porch  of  the  ancient  hotel, 
half-leaning  against  one  of  the  posts  or  pillars  that  held 
up  the  shed  over  the  porch. 

The  cannon  balls  and  shells  were  flying  around  very 
lively,  and  one  of  them  struck  the  post  against  which 
the  general  was  leaning  and  broke  it  into  splinters.  The 
general  naturally  fell  over  and  appeared  to  be  stunned. 
It  was  reported  afterward  that  he  was  struck  by  the 
shell,  or  whatever  it  was,  but  this  was  not  the  case. 
When  it  was  found  that  there  were  no  external  marks 
upon  him  and  that  he  did  not  appear  to  be  dangerously 
hurt,  it  was  reported  that  he  was  knocked  over  by  the 
concussion  from  the  passage  of  the  shell.  But  this  is 
not  true  either.  He  simply  lost  his  support  and  fell  over 
and  was  injured  by  the  fall  from  the  porch. 

Report  has  it  that  the  general  soon  revived  after  the 
application  of  a  dose  of  good  old  commissary,  and  that 
it  made  him  feel  so  good  that  he  took  another  and 
another  dose,  until  pretty  soon — but  this  may  be  a  base 
libel.  Like  Grant,  the  president  perhaps  inquired  what 
sort  of  whisky  he  drank,  so  that  he  might  get  some  of 
the  same  sort  for  some  of  the  other  generals ! 

Not  far  from  the  Chancellorsville  house  was  an  im- 
mense barn,  which  had  been  turned  into  a  hospital. 
My  first  idea  was  to  repair  to  this  hospital,  which  I 
knew  to  be  such  from  the  large  yellow  flag  floating  over 
it. 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  431 

Now  in  civilized  warfare — as  if  any  warfare  couid  be 
called  civilized — the  hospital  flag  is  presumed  to  pro- 
tect the  building  or  tent  from  the  fire  of  the  enemy.  It 
is  an  unwritten  law,  in  the  interests  of  common  human- 
ity, that  hospitals  shall  be  exempt  from  being  shot 
at.  But  imagine  my  horror  to  see  that  the  enemy  had 
trained  their  guns  on  this  hospital. 

It  could  not  have  been  accidentally  done.  Shell  after 
shell  poured  into  the  building,  almost  tearing  it  to 
pieces  in  the  course  of  a  few  moments.  The  wounded 
men  came  streaming  out,  some  helping  themselves, 
others  on  stretchers.  They  were  suffering  untold 
agonies  from  their  wounds,  and  many  of  them  wrere 
horribly  stained  with  their  own  blood.  As  they  came 
streaming  from  the  hospital,  the  upper  part  of  which 
had  taken  fire,  it  presented  one  of  the  most  horrible 
scenes  that  I  ever  witnessed,  and  never  before  did  I  feel 
so  thoroughly  mad  at  the  inhumanity  of  the  gunners 
who  would  do  such  a  thing. 

But  the  shells  and  the  bullets  came  flying  still  faster 
and  it  was  getting  too  hot  for  me.  I  concluded  to  get 
further  back,  where  it  was  safer. 

Just  about  this  time  a  remarkable  revulsion  of  feel- 
ing came  over  me.  From  the  time  I  had  become  actively 
engaged  in  the  conflict  of  the  battle,  as  previously  de- 
scribed, I  had  not  experienced  the  slightest  emotion  of 
apprehension  or  fear.  But  suddenty  I  began  to  be 
frightened.  In  fact  I  was  almost  panic-stricken,  and 
my  sole  desire  was  to  reach  a  place  of  safety.  Now 
that  there  was  a  possibility  of  saving  my  life,  the  desiro 
of  doing  so  was  all  the  more  intensified.  I  started  to 
run  at  full  speed,  and  for  a  little  distance  made  good 
time,  till  I  began  to  feel  some  strange  pain  in  my  legs. 
Upon  the  top  of  a  hill  I  saw  what  looked  like  a  com- 
paratively safe  place  behind  some  ammunition  wagonr, 
caissons  and  limbers,  to  which  the  horses  were  attached, 
as  if  ready  to  move  on  a  minute's  notice. 

Getting  down  behind  these,  I  pulled  off  my  trousers 
and  began  to  examine  my  nether  extremities.  I  found 
my  legs  streaming  with  blood,  and  then  found  the  two 
bullet  wounds  that  I  had  never  before  suspected.  I 
must  have  received  these  in  the  midst  of  the  fight  a 


432  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

little  while  before,  when  I  was  too  much  excited  to 
notice  "a  little  thing  like  that." 

While  1  was  at  this,  there  was  a  tremendous  crash 
and  explosion,  followed  by  yells  and  curses,  and  a 
dense  cloud  of  smoke  arose  to  the  skies. 

Looking  upward,  I  was  amazed  to  see  the  air  filled 
with  flying  debris,  and  among  the  lot  I  was  horrified 
to  see  human  beings  and  horses  mixed  with  the  broken 
pieces  of  the  wagons  and  timbers. 

Before  I  could  recover  my  senses  there  dropped  right 
alongside  me  a  human  being — or  what  was  left  of  him! 

Such  a  sight!  I  nearly  dropped  senseless.  It  makes 
me  shudder  to  this  day  when  thinking  of  it. 

Could  it  be  a  human  being?  Could  there  be  any  life 
left  in  that — that  thing? 

But  it  was  alive !     It  spoke ! 

"For  the  love  of  God,"  it  said,  "for  the  love  of 
God,  shoot  me!     Put  me  out  of  my  misery!" 


THE  TOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LXXX. 

RETREAT   FROM  CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

"If  there  is  any  one  near  me,"  moaned  the  poor  man, 
"if  any  one  can  bear  me,  let  him  shoot  me!" 

This  the  poor  wretch  repeated  time  and  time  again. 
His  voice  was  thick  and  his  words  could  hardly  he  com- 
prehended, but  I  understood  them.  And  I  confess  right 
here  that  if  I  had  had  a  gun  or  pistol  I  would  have  done 
as  he  wished  and  put  him  out  of  his  miseiy. 

A  shell  had  struck  one  of  the  caissons  and  it  had  ex- 
ploded. That  one  shot  had,  as  afterward  ascertained, 
killed  sixteen  horses  and  twelve  men,  beside  wounding 
nearly  as  many  more.  One-half  of  these  had  been  blown 
high  into  the  air,  amid  a  mass  of  scorching  flames  from 
the  exploding  powder. 

The  poor  fellow  before  me  had  gone  up  in  the  midst 
of  the  flame,  and  the  fire  had  not  only  burned  off  every 
stitch  of  clothing,  but  had  roasted  his  flesh  to  a  crisp. 
His  hair  was  gone.  His  eyes  were  burned  out  and  his 
ears  had  entirely  disappeared.  The  ends  of  his  fingers 
were  roasted  off  to  the  very  bone.  Through  one  of  his 
knees  protruded  the  end  of  the  bone.  Such  a  sickening 
sight  was  never  seen. 

And  yet  the  thing  was  alive,  and  not  only  alive,  but 
conscious,  and  able  to  pray  that  some  one  might  put  a 
merciful  bullet  through  his  heart.  I  have  always  re- 
gretted that  I  was  not  able  to  answer  that  prayer.  I  do 
not  think  it  would  have  been  wrong  to  kill  a  man  under 
such  circumstances. 

What  became  of  that  man  I  don't  know.  I  could  not 
stand  the  sight,  and  ran  away  as  fast  as  I  could,  not 
even  taking  time  to  put  on  my  trousers,  which  I  had 
taken  off  to  examine  my  own  wounds.     With  these 


434  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

hanging  over  my  arm  I  scurried  down  the  other  side  of 
the  hill  as  fast  as  my  legs  would  carry  me,  and  when  I 
got  to  a  safe  place  I  redressed  myself.  It  was  many  a 
day  before  I  got  the  horrible  sight  from  my  eyes. 

Once  more  I  joined  the  procession  of  wounded  men, 
and  pretty  soon  came  to  the  river  again  and  crossed  on 
a  pontoon  bridge. 

An  army  was  moving  in  opposite  directions.  One 
was  the  army  of  wounded  men  with  which  I  was  mov- 
ing. The  other  was  composed  of  the  fresh  troops  that 
were  going  forward  to  relieve  those  actively  engaged  in 
lighting. 

Right  glad  was  I  that  I  was  going  the  way  I  was  in- 
stead of  in  the  opposite  direction.  And  when  I  thought 
of  the  difference  I  began  to  feel  exhilarated  and  joyous. 

Gradually  a  sense  of  the  situation  came  over  me,  and 
it  grew  stronger  and  stronger  as  I  walked  along. 

I  began  to  appreciate  what  a  glorious  thing  it  would 
be  to  see  my  name  in  the  papers  among  the  list  of 
wounded.  Here  was  unanswerable  proof  that  I  had 
been  actively  engaged  in  a  battle.  For  a  time  at  least 
there  would  be  no  more  fighting  for  me.  Only  an  old 
soldier  can  appreciate  what  that  sensation  means. 

Perhaps — and  the  idea  struck  me  like  a  flash — per- 
haps I  might  get  a  furlough  to  go  home.  A  furlough ! 
Could  it  be  possible? 

Would  I  again  see  Paterson?  Was  it  possible  that  I 
might  go  home  with  my  arm  in  a  sling,  bearing  the 
honorable  wounds  of  a  soldier  who  had  bravely  done 
his  duty? 

These  sensations  are  the  ecstacy  of  a  soldier's  happi- 
ness, and  then  I  experienced  them  for  the  first  time. 
What  were  all  the  hardships  and  terrors  I  had  gone 
through  now?  They  all  sank  into  insignificance.  All 
that  I  knew  was  that  there  was  a  chance  of  my  seeing 
home  once  more,  and  that  for  a  time  I  would  go  into 
civilization  and  be  free! 

Free!  Yes,  that  is  the  word.  Service  in  the  army 
is  a  sort  of  slavery  in  one  sense,  a  nightmare,  an  ever- 
present  sense  of  not  being  your  own  master.  And  the 
feeling  that  one  may  be  exempt  from  this  slavery,  this 
trammel,  or  whatever  it  may  be  called,  is  a  pleasure 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  435 

that  can  only  be  comprehended,  by  those  who  have  gone 
through  it. 

I  had  a  long  walk  that  day,  and  it  was  a  tiresome 
walk  for  me,  for  the  wounds  in  my  legs  pained  and 
weakened  me.  But  the  mental  sensations  of  getting 
away  from  the  active  and  horrible  front,  kept  me  going 
and  gave  me  strength. 

Somehow  or  other  it  got  out  that  the  wounded  soldiers 
were  to  repair  to  Aquia  creek,  where  the  general  field 
hospitals  were  located.  How  far  was  Aquia  creek? 
"About  ten  miles,"  was  the  answer.  Ten  miles — in 
Virginia !  We  knew  what  that  meant,  and  made  up 
our  minds  that  it  was  at  least  twenty. 

But  what  is  twenty  miles  to  a  soldier,  especialty  when 
not  hampered  with  the  weight  of  a  heavy  musket  and 
knapsack  and  accouterments?  It  was  nothing.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  however,  it  was  not  twenty  miles.  Six- 
teen was  nearer  it. 

While  we  were  walking  along  one  side  of  the  river, 
we  could  see  the  rising  smoke  and  hear  the  rattling 
musketry  and  booming  cannon  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  all  the  way  from  Chancellorsville  to  Fredericks- 
burg and  below. 

I  reached  Aquia  creek  somewhere  about  dusk,  and 
reporting  to  an  officer  was  assigned  to  a  straw  bed  on 
the  ground  in  an  immense  hospital  tent.  The  condi- 
tions were  not  very  favorable  for  sleeping,  for  the  tent, 
as  well  as  many  others  like  it  scattered  around,  was 
filled  with  wounded  men.  The  wounds,  at  first  com- 
paratively painless,  had  by  this  time  begun  to  inflame, 
and  the  men  were  growing  restless  under  the  agony. 
There  was  a  perfect  chorus  of  moans  and  groans,  pray- 
ers and  curses. 

But  I  was  too  fatigued  from  the  day's  excitement  to 
stay  awake  and  soon  fell  sound  asleep.  During  the 
night  some  time  I  was  awakened  by  the  water  running 
through  the  straw  on  which  I  lay.  I  listened  and  heard 
the  rain  pattering  on  the  outside  of  the  tent  and  the 
wind  was  blowing  the  canvass  in  a  way  that  threatened 
to  turn  the  whole  hospital  upside  down. 

A  terrible  rainstorm  had  come  up  during  the  night. 

It  is  a  singular  thing  that  a  heavy  rain  always  fol- 


436  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

lows  a  big  battle.  It  is  supposed  to  be  the  result  of  the 
cannonading.  It  is  upon  this  theory  that  the  "rain- 
makers" recently  made  such  an  ado.  I  haven't  the 
slightest  doubt  that  if  as  much  powder  were  spent  in 
these  scientific  tests  as  there  is  consumed  in  a  big  battle, 
there  would  be  a  heavy  rain  afterward.  At  all  events 
I  think  that  history  will  prove  that  there  never  yet  was 
a  heavy  battle  that  was  not  followed  by  a  big  rain- 
storm. 

That  rain-storm,  by  the  way,  was  one  of  the  causes  of 
the  failure  of  the  Union  troops  at  Chancellorsville. 
General  Hooker,  in  his  braggadocio  order,  had  said  in 
effect  that  he  had  got  the  enemy  in  such  a  position  that 
even  the  Almighty  could  not  save  them.  That  was 
where  he  made  a  mistake.  He  had  arranged  the  details 
for  the  battle  all  right  and  all  had  been  done  that 
human  skill  could  do.  But  the  very  power  that  Gen- 
eral Hooker  had  derided  frustrated  the  whole  scheme, 
and  turned  into  a  defeat  what  might,  but  for  the  storm 
that  heaven  brought  up,  have  been  a  glorious  victory. 

After  I  had  been  wounded  the  Thirteenth  Regiment 
remained  in  the  fighting  line  till  their  ammunition  was 
completely  exhausted.  The  regiment  was  frightfully 
reduced  in  numbers,  but  the  men  did  their  duty  nobly, 
and  made  a  name  for  themselves  that  gained  for  them 
the  soubriquet  of  "The  Fighting  Thirteenth!" 

In  falling  back  to  a  position  near  the  Chancellors- 
ville house  a  number  of  them  were  wounded  by  the 
storm  of  shells  and  bullets  through  which  I  had  passed, 
as  previously  described.  The  fighting  continued  all 
day,  but  although  the  Thirteenth  was  moved  hither  and 
thither,  it  did  not  again  become  actively  engaged. 

The  battle  was  continued  on  the  following  morning 
in  a  desultory  sort  of  a  way,  but  pretty  soon  the  rain 
began  to  interfere  with  the  operations.  The  roads  and 
fields  became  so  deep  with  mud  that  the  artillery  and 
ammunition  wagons  could  not  be  moved,  and  the  river 
began  to  rise  so  rapidly  that  the  current  threatened  to 
wash  away  the  pontoon  bridges.  It  was  impossible  to 
bring  to  the  front  any  more  ammunition  or  provisions, 
and  a  further  delay  might  prevent  the  retreat  of  the 
troops  to  the  other  side  of  the  river. 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  437 

So,  instead  of  following  up  the  battle,  the  army  had 
to  retreat  to  the  other  side  of  the  river  to  escape  being 
hemmed  in  and  cut  up  completely.  This  left  the  field 
in  the  possession  of  the  enemy  practically,  although 
they  were  also  cut  up  too  badly  to  make  any  effort  to 
follow  us.  The  Northern  army  was  in  decidedly  the 
best  condition,  and  it  was  one  of  the  greatest  mishaps 
of  the  war  that  they  were  not  in  a  position  to  follow  up 
the  enemy  and  annihilate  them  then  and  there,  as  might 
unquestionably  have  been  done,  but  for  the  interference 
of  the  great  storm. 

As  it  was,  the  entire  army  was  ordered  back  to  the 
same  camps  they  had  occupied  before  starting  out  for  the 
Chancellorsville  campaign. 

How  different  was  that  backward  march  from  the 
one  to  the  front  only  a  few  days  before !  The  roads 
were  heavy  with  mud.  The  rain  came  down  in  tor- 
rents, dampening  both  the  bodies  and  spirits  of  the  men. 
There  were  sorrowful  hearts  in  the  ranks  as  the  com- 
rades looked  around  and  failed  to  see  their  former  com- 
panions. No  oue  knew  the  fate  of  his  comrades,  of 
course. 

What  had  become  of  this  one  and  that  one,  was  the 
question  that  none  could  answer.  They  were  last  seen 
at  this  place  or  that  place.  Some  remembered  seeing 
some  shot,  but  whether  wounded  or  killed,  no  one  could 
tell.  To  all  intents  and  purposes  all  the  absentees  were 
killed.  It  took  days  before  the  real  fate  of  the  missing- 
could  be  ascertained,  and  never  was  the  fate  of  some  of 
them  discovered. 

With  thinned  ranks,  downcast,  tired  out,  discour- 
aged, what  was  left  of  the  Thirteenth  Regiment  of  New 
Jersey  Volunteers  filed  into  the  same  old  camp  they  had 
occupied  at  Stafford  Court  House,  and  took  possession 
of  the  same  old  log  huts. 

Those  who  participated  in  that  return  said  afterward 
that  it  felt  like  coming  home  from  a  funeral.  My  faith- 
ful "pard,"  John  Butterworth,  had  the  whole  bunk  to 
himself,  for  I  lay  under  that  rain-soaked  tent  at  Aquia 
creek  and  the  report  was  in  the  regiment  that  I  had 
been  killed. 


438  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

Indeed  the  first  papers  after  the  battle  had  my  name 
among  the  list  of  the  dead,  and  every  once  in  a  while 
when  I  feel  in  a  peculiarly  cheerful  mood,  and  want 
something  to  amuse  me,  I  get  out  the  old  files  and  read 
my  own  obituary ! 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  439 


CHAPTER  LXXXI. 

HOSPITAL  SCENES. 

The  time  I  lay  in  the  rain-soaked  hospital  tent  at 
Aquia  creek  was  about  as  tough  an  experience  as  I  had 
yet  passed  through.  It  was  impossible  to  go  out  with- 
out getting  wet  to  the  skin,  while  the  inside  of  the  tent 
was  cold  and  damp,  and  it  was  so  filled  with  wounded 
men  that  there  was  hardly  room  to  get  around. 

The  best  thing  that  we  could  do  under  these  circum- 
stances was  to  remain  in  bed,  and  that  is  just  what  the 
most  of  us  did.  When  I  say  "bed"  of  course  I  mean 
nothing  more  than  the  pile  of  straw  on  the  wet  ground 
upon  which  we  lay. 

The  wounded  men  lay  in  a  row  along  each  side  of  the 
tent,  leaving  a  sort  of  aisle  in  the  middle  through  which 
the  surgeons  and  attendants  could  pass.  The  wounds 
began  to  become  very  painful  as  the  time  passed,  and 
the  groans  and  moans  of  the  poor  victims  were  unceas- 
ing day  and  night.  Every  once  in  a  while  the  doctors 
would  have  to  amputate  a  leg  or  an  arm  or  perform 
some  other  surgical  operation  in  one  end  of  the  tent,  and 
that  added  to  our  mental  torture.  Although  wounded 
and  feverish,  the  fare  that  we  received  was  little  better 
than  the  regular  army  rations  out  in  the  field,  and  tak- 
ing it  altogether  it  was  a  fearfully  uncomfortable  and 
painful  experience. 

After  about  three  days,  however,  on  a  cold  and  damp 
night,  although  the  rain  had  stopped,  word  was  passed 
through  the  tent  that  a  number  of  us  were  to  be  trans- 
ferred to  Washington,  and  I  happened  to  be  one  of  the 
men  thus  favored. 

We  were  taken  down  to  the  dock  and  placed  on  board 
a  steamboat.     We  were  laid  on  the  bare  deck  of  the 


4i0  TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

steamer,  as  closely  together  as  we  could  lie,  but  it  was 
a  dry  place,  compared  with  the  tent,  although  very 
draughty.  Pretty  soon  the  throbbing  of  the  engines  of 
the  steamboat  commenced.  It  was  welcome  music  to 
my  ears.  It  was  the  first  sound  of  civilization.  It  was 
so  different  from  the  taps  of  the  drum,  the  blast  of  the 
bugle,  the  rattle  of  musketry  and  the  boom  of  cannon, 
that  it  sounded  like  veritable  music,  and  it  soon  lulled 
me  into  a  sound  slumber. 

I  never  awoke  till  morning.  When  I  opened  my  eyes, 
the  sun  streamed  into  the  windows  at  the  side  of  the 
boat,  and  at  a  distance  I  could  see  some  buildings. 
Getting  up  to  take  a  more  careful  observation  my  eyes 
were  delighted  by  the  familiar  sight  of  the  unfinished 
dome  of  the  National  Capitol,  and  the  half-completed 
shaft  of  the  Washington  monument. 

I  was  again  in  Washington. 

We  were  removed  to  the  various  hospitals  that  had 
been  built  at  the  capital.  These  were  simply  rough 
barracks  built  in  wings,  but  commodious  enough  to  ac- 
commodate many  thousand  wounded  men.  And  from 
the  way  the  wounded  men  were  being  taken  into  them 
it  seemed  that  it  would  not  take  long  to  fill  them  all  up. 
Wounded  men  arrived  by  the  hundreds,  by  boat  and  by 
cars,  and  then  for  the  first  time  we  begam  to  appreciate 
the  vast  number  of  soldiers  that  had  been  mutilated  in 
the  battle  of  Chancellorsville. 

I  was  taken  to  the  Lincoln  hospital.  There  was  a 
good  deal  of  red  tape  in  the  army  at  all  times,  and  it 
even  extended  to  the  operation  of  assigning  wounded 
men  to  the  different  hospitals.  I  remember  that  it  was 
late  in  the  afternoon  that  I  arrived  at  Lincoln  Hospital, 
and  it  was  night  before  I  had  been  assigned  to  my  par- 
ticular ward  and  cot. 

My  name  and  regiment  and  the  address  of  my  friends 
at  home  were  Avritten  on  a  piece  of  paper  and  stuck  at 
the  head  of  my  cot  on  the  wall.  This  was  done  in  the 
case  of  all  the  men,  and  was  of  course  for  the  purpose  of 
identification  in  case  anything  happened  that  rendered 
it  necessary  to  send  word  home  or  make  a  report  to  the 
regiment. 

A  sister  of  charity,  God  bless  her! — a  mere  girl  at 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  441 

that,  who  would  have  been  very  pretty  had  she  taken 
off  her  big  white  bonnet  and  fixed  up  her  hair  a  little, 
came  to  me  and  calmly  told  me  that  she  thought  I  had 
better  go  to  bed.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  if  my  face 
was  not  too  dirty  to  show  it  at  the  time,  I  actually 
blushed  a  little  as  I  politely  told  her  I  would  retire  if 
she  could  manage  to  hide  herself  for  a  few  moments. 
Smilingly  she  disappeared. 

I  proceeded  to  undress.  Then  it  struck  me  that  this 
was  the  first  time  that  I  undressed  to  go  to  bed  since  I 
enlisted.  To  tell  the  truth  I  felt  rather  ashamed.  A 
soldier  in  the  field  never  thinks  of  takiug  off  all  his 
clothing  to  go  to  bed,  and  there  was  a  freedom  or  loose- 
ness about  it,  if  you  please,  that  felt  very  odd.  When 
I  opened  the  bed  and  saw  the  clean,  white  sheets,  it 
seemed  a  sacrilege  to  muss  them  up. 

But  I  hastened  into  the  cot  and  pulled  the  clothes  up 
around  my  chin,  and  oh!  how  comfortable  it  did  feel! 
It  was  the  first  time  in  about  nine  months  that  I  had 
been  undressed  and  in  bed,  and  the  sensation  seemed  to 
be  as  strange  as  if  it  were  the  first  time  I  had  ever  done 
it  in  my  life. 

Pretty  soon  the  sister  came  along  with  a  glass  of 
something  and  told  me  to  drink  it.  It  was  eggnog ! 
Yum-yum-yum-yum !  Did  ever  anything  taste  so  good? 
It  was  nectar  fit  for  the  gods.  I  kept  my  lips  glued  to 
the  edge  of  the  glass  as  long  as  there  was  a  drop  of  the 
precious  stuff  left.  Then  I  felt  as  if  I  would  like  to 
swallow  the  glass. 

The  sister  told  me  to  go  to  sleep,  and  I  think  I  obeyed 
this  instruction  in  a  few  moments,  for  pretty  soon  the 
warmth  of  the  liquor  in  tho  punch  began  to  flow  through 
my  veins  and  I  think  that  I  never  before  nor" since  felt 
so  supremely  happy  or  comfortable. 

Some  time  during  the  night  I  was  awakened  by  a 
racket.  The  ward  in  which  I  was  located  contained  a 
number  of  severely  wounded  men.  The  racket  was 
caused  by  the  efforts  of  the  attendant  to  quiet  a  poor 
fellow  who  had  become  delirious.  He  had  had  both 
legs  amputated  just  above  the  knees,  and  in  his  delir- 
ium had  arisen  from  his  cot  and  was  trying  to  walk 
down  the  aisle  on  his  mutilated  stumps !  The  effort  tore 
the  bandages  off  and  the  blood  flowed  on  the  floor. 


442  THE  YOUNG  VOLUNTEER. 

"Get  that  man  quieted  at  once,"  exclaimed  one  of 
the  surgeons,  who  had  hastened  out  of  his  office  to  see 
what  was  the  matter.  "If  you  don't  act  quickly  he 
will  bleed  to  death." 

"You're  a  liar,"  was  the  surprising  answer  from  the 
wounded  man.     "You're  a  liar!     You  can't  kill  Jim 

Murphy.     There  isn't  a rebel  in  the  country  that 

could  kill  Jim  Murphy.** 

"But  you'll  bleed  to  death  if  you  don't  remain  quiet 
and  let  these  nurses  attend  to  your  bandages,"  said  the 
surgeon. 

"No,  I'll  be  ■ if  I  do,"  replied  the  wounded  man. 

"I  don't  intend  to  die,  and  ye  can't  kill  me.  Jim  Mur- 
phy's too  tough  for  ye  all!" 

They  got  the  plucky  fellow  back  into  his  cot  and  tied 
him  in,  much  to  his  disgust.  There  were  other  rackets 
in  progress  down  the  ward,  for  the  wounds  had  begun 
to  make  the  men  feverish  generally.  I  will  only  refer 
to  one  case  as  a  contrast  with  that  of  "Jim  Murphy." 
It  was  a  fellow  who  had  been  shot  through  the  thigh, 
and  although  it  was  a  painful  injury  it  was  by  no  means 
dangerous.  But  the  man  was  frightened  half  to  death 
and  had  made  up  his  mind  to  die  anyway. 

"I  tell  you,  doctor,"  said  he,  plaintively,  "I  am  go- 
ing to  die.  I  will  never  get  over  this.  I  have  received 
a  mortal  wound." 

"Oh,  nonsense,"  replied  the  doctor.  "You  are  not 
fatally  hurt  hj  any  means.  You  are  not  half  as  badly 
wounded  as  this  fellow  with  both  legs  off,  and  he  says 
that  they  can't  kill  him." 

"No,  you  spalpeen,"  replied  the  legless  man,  "they 
can't  kill  me.  Don't  ye  be  a  baby.  Brace  up  and 
don't  die  to  satisfy  the  spalpeens." 

But  this  did  not  pacify  the  other.  The  trivially 
wounded  man  lost  his  heart  and  made  up  his  mind 
that  he  was  going  to  die,  and  he  did.  He  died  that 
very  night,  and  the  doctors  said  that  it  was  not  from  the 
wound  at  all,  but  from  the  fact  that  the  fellow  had  lost 
his  nerve  and  given  up,  and  all  the  doctors  on  the  face 
of  the  earth  could  not  save  a  man  under  such  circum- 
stances. 

The  legless  man,  true  to  his  word,  kept  up  his  pluck 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  443 

and  got  well,  and  for  all  that  I  know  he  is  living  yet. 
Possibly  he  may  be  one  of  those  who  are  scuffling  along 
on  the  New  York  sidewalks,  picking  up  a  handsome 
living  from  charitably  disposed  people. 

I  simply  relate  this  instance  to  illustrate  a  matter 
that  had  many  parallels  during  the  war.  A  grievously 
wounded  man  would  invariably  recover  if  he  kept  up 
his  pluck  and  his  nerve,  while  many  a  man,  whose 
wounds  should  not  have  caused  his  death,  died,  simply 
because  he  gave  up.  The  influence  of  the  mind  over 
the  body  was  never  more  strongly  shown  than  in  such 
cases  as  these,  and  there  is  not  an  old  army  surgeon 
who  could  not  relate  hundreds  of  similar  instances. 

In  a  day  or  so  my  wound  began  to  pain  me  fearfully, 
and  swelled  bigger  and  bigger  till  it  became  as  large  as 
my  head.  I  grew  feverish  and  somewhat  delirious. 
The  gentle  sister  who  waited  on  me  brought  me  many 
milk  punches  and  cup  custards,  and  if  she  had  been  my 
blood  sister  she  could  not  have  manifested  greater  solic- 
itude for  my  welfare.  My  swollen  hand  was  placed  in 
an  oil-silk  bag  and  filled  with  ice,  so  that  it  was  prac- 
tically frozen. 

But  no  use.  Gangrene  had  set  in,  and  old  soldiers 
know  what  that  means.  One  morning  the  doctor  came 
to  me  and  after  examining  my  hand,  shook  his  head 
and  gravely  remarked : 

"It's  no  use,  my  boy;  that  hand  has  got  to  come  off, 
if  you  want  to  live. ' ' 

If  the  surgeon  had  given  me  a  blow  on  the  head  with 
a  sledgehammer  I  could  not  have  received  a  greater 
shock. 


444  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 


CHAPTER  LXXXII. 

A  SISTER  OF  CHARITY. 

When  the  surgeon  told  me  that  he  would  have  to  cut 
off  my  hand  to  save  my  life,  it  was,  as  stated,  a  terrible 
shock.  I  had  lain  there  and  suffered,  with  my  swollen 
arm  incased  in  ice,  frozen  stiff  and  strapped  to  a  chair 
beside  my  cot,  and  suffered  untold  tortures,  but  had  not 
made  a  murmur.  But  the  mental  suffering  occasioned 
by  the  startling  information  that  I  would  have  to  go 
through  the  world  for  the  rest  of  my  life  with  only  one 
haud,  was  a  thousand  times  worse  than  anything  that  I 
had  yet  experienced. 

As  soon  as  I  could  recover  my  voice,  I  asked : 

"Is  there  no  hope  of  saving  it,  doctor?  The  loss  of 
that  hand  would  ruin  me.  It  would  make  it  impossi- 
ble for  me  to  ever  work  again  at  my  trade." 

"What  is  your  trade?"  he  asked. 

"A  printer." 

"Hump!  That's  bad.  I'll  see  what  can  be  done 
about  it  this  afternoon." 

"This  afternoon?"  I  asked.  It  seemed  a  dreadfully 
short  notice. 

"Yes,  my  boy,"  answered  the  surgeon,  kindly; 
"whatever  is  done  must  be  done  without  further  delay. " 

I  shuddered  at  the  idea  of  having  my  hand  ampu- 
tated, even  though  it  was  the  left  hand.  I  reflected 
how  I  would  look  going  through  life  with  one  hand. 
How  would  I  ever  earn  my  living?  I  couldn't  hold  a 
composing  stick  and  set  type  with  one  hand.  Then  I 
suddenly  remembered  my  fiddle.  How  could  I  play 
the  violin  with  one  hand — and  that  instrument  was  one 
of  the  jo3rs  of  my  life.  I  am  not  saying  how  much  joy 
it  must  have  been  to  those  who  were  compelled  to  listen 
to  my  practicing ! 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  US 

Then  the  good  sister  came  along  with  another  milk 
punch.  It  was  a  dandy.  I  imagined  it  must  have  been 
three-quarters  brandy.  In  a  few  moments  I  felt  so 
good  that  I  didn't  care  if  they  cut  off  both  hands  and 
threw  in  one  leg  for  good  measure !  I  was  soon  sleep- 
ing the  sleep  of  the  just  and  virtuous,  as  soundly  as  if 
I  had  been  given  a  dose  of  knock-out  drops. 

Some  time  during  the  afternoon  I  was  awakened  by 
the  surgeon's  assistant,  who  had  come  to  take  me  to  the 
operating-room  at  the  end  of  the  ward.  Now  the  sur- 
geons in  the  hospital  in  war  times  were  no  prohibition- 
ists. They  believed  in  the  efficacy  of  good  old  whisky. 
And  that  it  served  a  good  purpose  there  can  be  no  ques- 
tion. 

The  first  thing  the  doctor  did,  therefore,  was  to  pour 
out  for  me  a  regular  old-fashioned  bumper  of  Bourbon, 
a  brimming  glassful  that  would  have  made  Weary 
Waggles'  eyes  glisten  with  joy.  I  swallowed  it,  and 
sent  a  chaser  after  it,  and  in  a  few  moments  felt  as  if  I 
didn't  care  for  all  the  surgeons'  knives  in  the  world. 

The  surgeon,  and  by  the  way  he  was  a  Dr.  Brown,  of 
Carlisle,  i  onnsylvania,  and  as  expert  a  surgeon  as  ever 
lived,  besides  being  a  kind-hearted  and  humane  gentle- 
man, unwrapped  the  bandages  off  my  swollen  hand  and 
arm  and  critically  examined  the  wound. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  doctor?"  I  asked,  some- 
what nervously. 

"I  may  save  the  hand  yet,"  replied  the  surgeon.  "I 
can't  tell,  however,  till  I  cut  into  it  a  little  to  see  how 
far  the  gangrene  has  extended." 

"Try  and  save  it  if  you  can,"  said  I,  mournfully.  I 
had  a  terrible  dread  of  losing  the  hand.  Perhaps  in  the 
first  excitement  of  the  battle  I  would  not  have  thought 
so  much  about  it,  but  now  that  I  had  time  to  refect 
it  was  different.  And  I  had  had  an  opportunity  to 
notice  the  crippled  and  helpless  condition  of  the  other 
fellows  who  had  been  forced  to  part  with  that  very  neces- 
sary part  of  the  human  anatomy. 

"Better  try  a  little  more  of  this,  my  boy,"  said  the 
doctor,  pouring  me  out  another  generous  bumper  of  the  \ 
whisky. 

It  struck  me  that  the  surgeon  was  determined  _that  I 


446  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

should  get  gloriously  drunk.  But  I  didn't  care.  If 
there  ever  was  a  time  when  I  felt  like  getting  a  first- 
class  jag,  as  it  is  called  nowadays,  it  was  just  then  and 
there.  This,  however,  was  not  Dr.  Brown's  intention, 
as  I  discovered  afterward.  My  system  was  run  down, 
and  it  was  necessary  that  I  should  be  stimulated  to  go 
through  with  the  operation. 

I  was  strapped  on  the  top  of  the  operating  table.  The 
good  sister  stood  at  my  side,  holding  a  basin  of  water 
and  a  sponge.  The  surgeon's  assistant  got  a  sponge 
saturated  with  chloroform.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had 
ever  taken  an  anaesthetic. 

A  smothering  sensation !  A  brief  struggle  for  air.  A 
feeling  that  I  was  going  up,  up,  up !     .     .     . 

The  next  moment — so  it  seemed — I  found  myself  in 
the  grasp  of  three  men.  The  table  was  upset,  the  sis- 
ter, picking  herself  up  from  the  floor  with  her  face  cov- 
ered with  blood  and  her  usually  white  and  spotless 
bonnet  crumpled  out  of  shape,  and  I  struggling  there 
with  my  wounded  hand  a  mass  of  blood  and  gore,  with 
the  bandage  knocked  off. 

I  was  completely  bewildered.  And  what  struck  me 
the  more  strangely  was  the  fact  that  everybody  was 
laughing.  Even  the  sister  was  smiling  as  she  picked 
herself  up  from  the  floor.  Dr.  Brown  said  it  was  the 
"liveliest  time  he  had  since  the  war  began." 

It  must  have  been,  judging  from  my  appearance  and 
the  looks  of  things  about  me ! 

It  seems  that  the  combined  effects  of  the  whisky  and 
the  chloroform  had  been  too  rich  for  my  blood.  As  ex- 
plained afterward  to  me,  after  the  operation  had  been 
performed,  and  I  was  reviving  from  the  effects  of  the 
anaesthetic,  I  had  become  delirious,  and  the  first  thing 
I  had  done  had  been  to  knock  down  the  sister  of  charity 
with  a  blow  of  my  wounded  fist.  This  had  torn  off  the 
bandages.  The  upsetting  of  the  things  in  the  little 
operating  room  was  caused  by  the  struggle  the  doctor 
and  his  attendants  had  in  subduing  me. 

I  knew  nothing  of  what  had  occurred,  of  course. 
When  I  looked  at  my  hand  and  saw  that  it  was  there 
yet,  I  imagined  that  the  operation  had  not  yet  been  com- 
menced, and  asked  the  doctor  what  was  the  matter  that 
it  had  not  been  done? 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  447 

"It's  done,"  replied  Dr.  Brown.  "The  operation  is 
finished " 

"But  the  hand's  still  there?"  I  asked,  glancing  at  the 
bloody  looking  object. 

"Yes,"  replied  he.  "I  think  we  can  save  it.  It  is 
not  so  bad  as  we  supposed.  You  will  find  that  it  is 
narrower  than  it  was.  I  took  out  the  bone  on  the  side, 
below  the  base  of  the  little  finger,  and  got  the  end  of 
the  gangrene.  You  will  be  all  right  yet.  Your  hand 
will  be  saved." 

"Thank  God!"  I  exclaimed,  fervently  and  thank- 
fully.    "Doctor,  I'll  never  forget  you  for  this." 

"But  you  will  have  to  have  it  fixed  over  again,"  said 
he.  "You  have  knocked  it  all  to  pieces.  The  stitches 
have  come  out  and  I  will  have  to  sew  it  over  again.  Do 
you  think  you  can  stand  that,  or  will  I  give  you  another 
dose  of  chloroform?" 

"Oh,  I  can  stand  that,  I  guess,"  I  replied.  "No 
more  chloroform  for  me,  if  you  please.  I  think  too 
much  of  the  sister  here  to  run  the  risk  again. ' ' 

The  sister  smiled.  "Oh,  that  was  nothing,"  she  said 
pleasantly. 

So  the  doctor  proceeded  to  "sew  me  up."  There 
were  only  three  or  four  stitches,  but  fury !  didn't  it  hurt ! 
Those  who  have  undergone  surgical  operations  all  agree 
that  the  most  painful  part  of  it  is  the  sticking  through 
of  the  needle  and  drawing  through  the  silken  thread. 
It  is  the  most  sensitive  part  of  the  body,  the  skin.  But 
I  got  through  with  it  all  right. 

Then  I  began  to  have  an  atrocious  headache,  and  felt 
like  completely  collapsing.  The  doctor's  suggestion 
that  I  take  another  drink  of  whisky  almost  made  me 
gag.  "No,"  I  replied;  "one  drunk  a  day  is  enough  for 
me." 

I  was  put  to  bed,  and  pretty  soon  had  a  raging  fever. 
For  two  days  and  night  I  lay  there  on  the  cot,  not 
caring  whether  I  lived  or  died.  The  afterclaps  of  the 
operation  were  worse  than  the  operation  itself,  a 
thousand  times. 

But  youth  and  health  will  triumph  pretty  quickly 
with  a  boy  of  nineteen  years,  and  I  rapidly  came  to  my- 
self again.     Then  I  realized  the  inestimable  service  the 


448  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

good  sister  had  rendered  while  I  lay  so  low.  She  had 
sat  by  the  side  of  my  cot  day  and  night  and  attended  to 
my  every  want  and  desire.  And  anybody  who  has  sat 
by  a  sick  bed  appreciates  what  that  means. 

When  I  got  better  the  sister  did  not  keep  around  me 
as  much  as  while  I  was  dangerously  feverish.  But  she 
came  now  and  then,  with  a  glass  of  eggnog  or  a  cup 
custard  or  some  other  dainty,  such  as  they  give  conva- 
lescents. One  night  she  came  through  the  ward  about 
10  o'clock.  She  was  on  her  last  errand  before  retiring, 
and  seeing  me  awake,  stopped,  took  a  seat  at  the  side  of 
the  cot,  and  softly  asked  me  how  I  felt? 

The  ward  was  very  quiet.  Everybody  seemed  to  be 
asleep ;  with  the  exception  of  the  lonely  and  half -asleep 
guard  at  the  end  of  the  room,  there  was  no  one  there 
but  the  sister. 

Now  I  had  just  about  fallen  half  in  love  with  that 
sister!  And  who  would  wonder?  She  was  the  first 
woman  I  had  spoken  to  in  months.  She  had  treated 
me  like  a  mother,  and  her  kindness  had  been  ceaseless. 
I  felt  more  than  grateful.  I  felt  affectionate,  as  one 
would  to  his  affianced.  And  as  yet  not  a  word  had 
passed  between  us  that  was  not  strictly  professional,  so 
to  speak.     This  time  I  decided  to  go  a  little  further. 

"I  am  glad  that  you  have  stopped  here  to-night," 
said  I. 

"Why?"  she  asked. 

"Because  you  have  been  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  don't 
know  how  to  thank  you." 

"It  is  my  duty  to  be  kind  to  these  poor  fellows,"  she 
replied. 

"Yes,  but  I  have  been  watching  pretty  closely,  and  I 
imagine  that  you  have  been  specially  kind  to  me." 

The  sister  dropped  her  eyes — and  blushed. 

Now  for  a  sister  of  charity  to  drop  her  ejTes  and  blush 
is  something  out  of  the  usual  run.  Generalby  they  are 
as  implacable  and  emotionless  as  marble.  They  are 
trained  to  be  so.  But  here  was  an  exception.  I  felt 
encouraged  at  the  sign  and  proceeded. 

"Sister,"  said  I,  "will  you  do  me  a  favor?" 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  looking  at  me  wonder- 
ingly. 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  449 

"Will — will  you  please  take  off  your  big  white  bon- 
net?" 

She  blushed  again. 

"I  can't  do  that,"  she  said  gently;  "it's  against  the 
rules." 

' '  Oh,  never  mind  the  rules, ' '  I  said.  ' '  Take  it  off,  and 
do  me  that  little  favor,  won't  you,  please?" 

"I— I " 

"Oh,  please  do." 

She  glanced  about  nervously,  hesitated  a  moment, 
and  then,  with  her  face  crimson  with  color,  unfastened 
the  broad  white  strings  under  her  chin,  and  with  a 
graceful  movement  threw  back  her  bonnet. 

In  doing  this  it  got  caught  in  her  hair  somehow,  and 
down  to  her  very  waist  tumbled  a  luxurious  mass  of 
wavy  brown  tresses.  I  looked  up  and  saw  a  vision  of 
perfect  loveliness ! 


450  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER, 


CHAPTER  LXXXIII. 
"crushed  again." 

"There's  many  a  noble  heart  under  a  ragged  coat," 
and  there  is  doubtless  many  a  handsome  face  mas- 
queraded by  an  exaggerated  and  distorted  white  bonnet 
worn  by  a  sister  of  charity,  but  never  did  I  expect  to 
find  such  an  object  of  beauty  in  the  little  sister  who 
now  stood  before  me  in  all  her  loveliness. 

To  be  sure,  I  had  become  acquainted  with  her  gentle 
manner,  her  soft  touch  and  her  soothing  voice,  but  I 
had  all  along  imagined  that  she  was  naturally  as 
homely  as  she  looked  in  her  solemn  garb.  Sisters  of 
charity  all  look  alike,  owing  to  their  peculiar  dress, 
which  seems  specially  designed  to  make  them  seem  un- 
attractive, but  in  this  instance  at  least  I  discovered  that 
there  was  beauty  behind  the  plain  exterior,  and  ever 
since  when  I  have  met  one  of  them  attired  in  the  homely 
garb  of  the  order  I  have  involuntarily  wondered  how 
the  sister  would  look  if  she  were  attired  in  ordinary 
costume. 

Inasmuch  as  beauty  is  the  pride  of  woman,  what  a 
sacrifice  it  must  be  for  them  to  thus  bury  their  charms 
and  devote  their  lives  to  the  mission  of  benevolence  and 
the  alleviation  of  human  suffering!  When  one  consid- 
ers these  things  he  must  have  a  still  higher  regard  for 
the  self-sacrificing  spirit  of  those  who  throw  aside  the 
pleasures  of  the  world  and  devote  themselves  to  an  ex- 
istence of  slavery  to  good  work,  as  it  were. 

When  I  saw  the  sister  standing  beside  me  that  night 
in  all  her  loveliness,  with  her  flushed  face,  and  her 
thick  tresses  hanging  down  her  back,  I  was  speechless 
with  amazement.  Embarrassed,  she  proceeded  to  read- 
just her  hair,  and  as  she  did  so  her  sleeves  slipped  back 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  451 

to  her  elbows,  displaying  an  arm  that  would  have  set  a 
sculptor  wild  with  enthusiasm.  I  quickly  put  out  my 
hand  to  stop  her. 

"Don't  put  it  up,  please,"  said  I.  "Let  your  hair 
remain  as  it  is." 

"But  I  must  not,"  she  said.  "It  is  against  the  rules. 
But,"  she  added  coyly,  "why  do  you  ask  that?" 

"If  you  knew  the  difference  it  makes,"  said  I,  "if 
you  appreciated  how  beautiful " 

"Sh,"  she  interrupted.  "You  must  not  talk  that 
way.     You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

"But  I'm  not,"  I  replied.  "A  young  man  who 
wouldn't  admire  you  as  you  look  now,  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  himself.     But  no  one  could  help  it,  I  guess. ' ' 

"Sh,  you  mustn't,"  she  repeated.  But  I  noticed 
that  she  was  not  in  a  particular  hurry  to  put  up  her  hair 
again.  She  dallied  in  the  operation.  She  was  a  woman, 
if  she  was  a  sister  of  charity. 

"What  is  your  name,  sister?"  I  asked  her. 

"Sister  Felicia.     You  know  that." 

"Yes,  I  know  that.     But  what  is  your  real  name?" 

"It  would  not  be  right  for  me  to  tell  that." 

"Oh,  it  wouldn't  do  any  harm."  I  insisted.  I  reached 
out  and  took  her  hand.  She  did  not  withdraw  it.  I 
was  making  good  progress,  and  my  heart  went  pitty- 
pat.     I  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  sister ! 

"My  right  name — is — I  don't  suppose  it  will  do  any 
harm  to  tell,  although  it  is  against  the  rules — my  right 
name  is  Nellie  Carleton." 

"Where  do  you  iive?"  I  asked  her. 

"I  shouldn't  answer  that,  but  I  will  tell  you  that  my 
home  is  in  Philadelphia." 

"Philadelphia,  eh?  That's  where  the  soldiers  are  al- 
ways so  nicely  treated.  It  is  the  city  of  Brotherly 
Love. 

"Tell  me,"  I  continued,  "what  made  you,  such  an  at- 
tractive girl,  perhaps  surrounded  with  everything  to 
make  life  enjoyable,  lay  aside  your  toilets  and  dresses 
of  civil  life,  to"  put  on  that  homely  gown  and  devote 
yourself  for  life  to  such  work  as  this?  It  does  not  seem 
natural." 

"Excuse  me,"   she  answered.     "I  haven't  devoteq 


452  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

my  life  to  this,  by  any  means.  I  am  not  a  regular  sis- 
ter of  charity.  I  have  not  taken  the  veil.  I  can  leave 
and  return  home  at  any  time  I  desire.  I  only  volun- 
teered, with  some  other  girls,  because  the  government 
wanted  nurses.  The  men  are  doing  their  duty,  and  I 
thought  it  only  right  that  the  women  should  do  their 
part,  in  the  best  manner  possible,  and  I  could  not  see 
any  better  way  than  to  assist  in  alleviating  the  suffer- 
ing of  the  sick  and  wounded. ' ' 

"And  then  you  are  going  back  home  when  your  serv- 
ices are  no  longer  required?" 

"Certainly.  My  father  is  a  rich  man,  and  my  mother 
is  not  in  good  health,  and  I  will  return  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible to  look  after  my  little  sisters." 

"Are  they  all  as  pretty  as " 

"Sh,"   she  interrupted.    "No  more  flattery,  please." 

"I  can't  help  that,  but  if  you  do  not  like  it,  I  will 
stop." 

To  tell  the  truth  she  did  not  look  as  if  she  really 
wanted  me  to  stop.     She  was  a  woman ! 

"Nellie,"  said  I,  but  she  promptly  interrupted  me: 

"Sister,  if  you  please." 

"Well,  then,  sister,"  I  said,  smiling,  "why  have  you 
been  so  kind  to  me  since  I  have  been  here?" 

"I  have  tried  to  be  kind  to  all  these  poor  fellows," 
she  replied. 

"Yes,  but  I  have  noticed  carefully,  and  I  think  you 
have  been  specially  kind  to  me." 

She  blushed  deeply. 

"Havel?"  she  asked  quietly. 

"Yes,  you  have.  You  know  you  have  been."  She 
seemed  embarrassed  considerably  at  this. 

"I  don't  know  that— that " 

"It  makes  no  difference,"  I  insisted.  "You  have 
been  specially  kind  to  me  and  you  have  made  me  feel 
very  kind — I  trust  you  will  forgive  me  for  saying  it, 
but  I  think  you  have  been  almost  affectionate  in  your 
treatment  and  kindness." 

Her  face  turned  crimson,  and  she  proceeded  to  put  up 
her  hair  and  did  not  stop  till  she  had  pinned  it  up, 
and  took  up  her  ugly  bonnet  as  if  to  put  it  on. 

"Don't  put  that    horrible  headgear  on  just  yet,"  I 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  453 

said,  taking  her  hand  again.  "I  want  to  talk  a  little 
more  with  you. ' ' 

"Then  don't  talk  any  more  nonsense,  or  I  will  go 
away,"  she  said  coquettishly,  just  as  any  girl  would 
have  done.     She  was  a  woman ! 

I  talked  of  various  things,  about  her  present  life  and 
the  terrible  strain  it  must  be  on  a  girl  accustomed  to 
ease  and  luxury,  and  complimented  her  on  her  noble 
conduct  in  giving  her  services  to  the  good  work  in  the 
manner  she  was  doing,  and  all  that.  This  seemed  to 
please  her  and  to  re-establish  the  friendly  relations  be- 
tween us.     Finally  I  got  back  on  the  old  strain  again. 

"Nellie,"  said  I,  once  more — and  this  time  she  did 
not  interrupt,  to  my  great  joy — "Nellie,  why  have  you 
been  specially  kind  and  attentive  to  me?" 

"Because — because — "   she  stammered   hesitatingly. 

"Well,  'because  why?'  "  I  asked  her. 

"Because — because  I  was  attracted  somehow  to  you 
the  first  time  I  saw  you. ' ' 

No  girl  could  have  made  this  winsome  remark  in  a 
prettier  way.  I  thought  that  every  nerve  in  mj  body 
was  afire  with  ecstasy.  I  was  surely  in  love  with  her. 
I  felt  that  she  must  have  a  warm  feeling  toward  me, 

"Why,  Nellie,  why  did  you  feel  that  way?"  I  asked 
her,  giving  her  hand  a  little — just  a  little  squeeze. 

"I  have  a  brother  in  the  army  somewhere,"  she  said. 

A  brother!  What  the  dickens  did  I  care  if  she  had  a 
dozen  brothers  in  the  army?  What  had  that  to  do  with 
me? 

"Well?"  said  I,  hardly  knowing  what  was  coming, 
and  yet  involuntarily  suspicious. 

"And,"  she  continued,  "my  brother  bears  a  remark- 
able likeness  to  you.  When  I  first  saw  you  I  thought 
it  was  he,  and  my  heart  went  into  my  throat." 

"And  when  you  found  your  mistake,  you  took  me  for 
a  substitute,  I  suppose?" 

"Hardly  that,"  she  replied  blushingly.  "But  I 
thought  perhaps  my  brother  might  some  time  be  in  the 
same  situation  as  you  are,  and  I  hoped  that  some  other 
sister  would  be  kind  to  him.  I  treated  you  as  I  wished 
my  brother  to  be  treated  should  he  be  wounded." 

"And  I  suppose  when  you  saw  a  fellow  that  looked 


454  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

like  your  brother  you  thought  you  would  be  specially 
kind  to  him?" 

"Yes,  that's  it." 

"You  love  your  brother,  don't  you,  Nellie?" 

"Why,  of  course  I  do." 

"And  do  you  think  you  could  love  the  fellow  who 
looks  like  your  brother?" 

"Sir!"  she  exclaimed,  pulling  her  hand  from  mine 
and  drawing  back. 

"Well,  I  said  it,"  said  I,  "and  I  repeat  it.  Do  you 
think  you  could  love  me?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  such  talk  as  that?" 

I  immediately  saw  that  I  had  put  my  foot  in  it — both 
feet,  in  fact!  But  I  wasn't  the  fellow  to  back  down  in 
the  face  of  the  enemy — particularly  if  the  enemy  be  one 
of  the  prettiest  girls  the  Lord  ever  made. 

"There's  no  use  beating  about  the  bush,"  I  said.  "I 
have  said  what  I  mean  and  I  will  stick  to  it.  You 
know  that  I  love  you,  and  I  pimply  wanted  to  know  if 
you  loved  me.  It  was  only  a  perfectly  natural  question 
to  ask,  after  what  we  have  said," 

"I  have  made  a  mistake, "  she  replied,  half -sorrow- 
fully, I  thought.  "I  have  let  this  interview  go  entirely 
too  far.  You  have  misconstrued  all  I  have  said  and 
done." 

"Then  you  do  not  care  for  me,  after  all?" 

"Care  for  you!"  she  exclaimed,  and  here  she  was 
more  womanlike  than  ever.  "Why,  you  are  the  big- 
gest fool  I  ever  saw.  Care  for  you?  Of  course  not!  I 
only  thought  I  saw  a  resemblance  to  my  brother,  and 
that  made  me  feel  like  taking  special  care  of  you  while 
you  were  too  feeble  to  take  care  of  yourself." 

"Then  what  you  did  was  not  for  me,  but  for  your 
brother?"  I  asked  lugubriously. 

"That's  it  exactly,"  she  replied.     "Good -evening!" 

Crushed  again ! 

As  I  caught  the  last  glimpse  of  the  pretty  sister's  gray 
skirt  as  it  swished  around  the  screen  at  the  end  of  the 
ward,  I  was  conscious  of  three  separate  and  distinct 
sensations. 

One  was  a  sense  of  intense  disappointment — a  sense 
of  having  lost  something  on  which  I  had  fondly  set  my 
heart. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  455 

Th9  next  sensation  was  that  I  had  made  a  great  mis- 
take— that  I  had  been  making  a  fool  of  myself.  I  had 
been  entirely  too  precipitous.  A  girl's  heart  isn't;  cap- 
tured in  such  a  sudden  manner  as  that.  But  I  was 
young  and  inexperienced  then !  I  learned  more  about 
' '  woman  and  her  ways' '  later  in  life. 

But  as  intimated,  there  was  a  third  sensation.  It  was 
this:  It  was  that  if  I  should  ever  meet  that  homely 
brother  of  the  sister's — the  fellow  that  looked  like  me — I 
would  kill  him  on  sight. 

The  idea  of  falling  in  love  with  a  girl  who  was  kind 
to  you  simply  because  you  resembled  her  big  fool  of  a 
gawky  brother!  It  was  too  much!  One  of  us  must 
die! 

But  fortunately  for  that  homely  brother  of  hers  he 
has  always  managed  to  keep  out  of  my  way,  i»,nd  has 
thus  escaped  with  his  miserable  life. 

I  did  not  see  much  of  the  sister  the  next  morning. 
She  passed  through  the  ward  a  number  of  times,  and 
always  passed  by  without  stopping  or  recognizing  me. 
Toward  noon  she  came  to  the  side  of  my  cot  and  calmly 
asked  if  I  wanted  anything. 

I  looked  up  into  her  face,  but  her  eyes  were  averted. 
She  acted  as  if  she  had  never  seen  me  before  in  my  life. 
She  was  a  woman ! 

Pretty  soon  I  became  somewhat  convalescent  and  was 
able  to  be  up  and  around,  with  my  arm  in  a  sling,  and 
could  help  myself  at  meals,  so  that  it  was  not  necessary 
that  I  should  be  waited  upon.  Necessarily  I  met  the 
sister  daily  and  several  times  a  day,  but  nothing  except 
the  most  commonplace  remarks  ever  passed  between  us. 

We  were  apparently  perfect  strangers.  I  thought  at 
times  that  she  would  make  some  reference  to  the  inter- 
view that  night,  but  she  did  not  refer  to  it,  and  I  was 
afraid  to,  for  fear  of  some  sort  of  an  explosion. 

Thus  matters  went  on  for  three  or  four  weeks,  till  one 
morning  a  number  of  us  were  notified  that  we  were  to 
be  removed  to  a  Northern  hospital.  Another  big  battle 
was  expected ,  and  all  the  convalescents  were  to  be  re- 
moved to  make  room  for  a  fresh  batch  of  mangled 
human  beings  from  another  bloody  field  of  conflict. 

It  was  one  afternoon  about  3  o'clock  that  we  were 


456  THE  YOUNG-   VOLUNTEER. 

told  to  get  ready,  and  an  hour  later  the  "invalid  squad" 
was  ordered  in  line  to  proceed  to  the  depot.  I  was  not 
tit  all  averse  to  leaving  Washington,  but  I  still  had  a 
desire  to  have  another  word  with  Nellie,  the  pretty  sis- 
ter of  charity. 

The  opportunity  presented  itself  at  the  last  moment, 
just  as  I  was  gathering  up  my  few  things  from  the  side 
of  the  cot  on  which  I  had  passed  so  many  painful — and 
so  many  happy  hours,  it  must  be  confessed. 

The  sister  came  to  me  to  bid  me  good-by. 

"So  you  are  going  away,"  said  she.  I  thought  that 
I  noticed  a  tinge  of  regret  in  the  inflection  of  her  voice. 

"Yes,  we  are  going  somewhere  up  North.  Wil- 
mington, I  hear.     Are  you  sorry  to  have  me  leave?" 

The  sister  flushed  a  little,  but  replied  coolly : 

"Of  course  I  am  sorry.  It  is  always  sorrowful  to 
part  with  friends." 

"Then  I  am  a  friend  of  yours?" 

"Of  course.     I  am  a  friend  of  all  the  soldiers." 

"That  is  altogether  too  general,"  said  I.  "Can't  you 
say  that  you  are  especially  sorry  to  part  with  me?" 

"Well,  yes,  as  I  told  j~ou  before,  you  look  so  much 
like  my  brother  that  I  shall  miss  you  more  than  some 
of  the  others." 

Confound  that  brother  again. 

"Then  you  only  care  for  me  because  I  resemble  your 
brother?" 

"I  told  you  that  before." 

"Yes,  I  know  you  did.  But  I  wish  that  you  cared 
for  me  for  myself. ' ' 

"There  you  go  again.     You  men  are  such  fools." 

"Thanks.  You  are  complimentary.  But  really, 
Nellie " 

"Sister,  please." 

"Well,  then,  sister,  do  you  think  we  shall  ever  meet 
again?     Could  you  consent  to  correspond  with  me?" 

"Why  can't  you  be  sensible?"  she  asked  in  reply. 
"What  is  the  sense  of  all  this  ridiculous  talk?  You 
know  we  are  not  likely  ever  to  meet  again.  You  know 
that  our  lives  are  to  be  apart,  and  that  after  you  have 
gone  you  will  forget  me  entirely  or  only  remember  me 
occasionally  as  the  sister  of  charity  that  took  care  of 
you  while  you  were  wounded  and  helpless." 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  457 

"No,  you  are  mistaken  in  that,"  I  replied.  "I  shall 
always  remember  you  as  Nellie,  and  not  as  the  sister  of 
charity." 

"And  I  shall  always  remember  you,"  she  said,  "as 
a  great  foolish  boy,  but,"  she  smilingly  added,  "I  hope 
that  you  will  be  successful  and  have  good  luck  and  be 
happy " 

"How  can  I  be  happy  without  you  to — — " 

"Oh,  you  get  out,  you  big  goose,"  she  said,  laughing 
outright.     "Good-by." 

And  then  she  turned  away,  and  I  had  to  fall  in  line, 
and  was  a  moment  later  on  the  way  to  the  depot  with 
my  companions.  I  turned  and  saw  the  sister  standing 
on  the  steps  of  the  hospital  entrance,  with  a  quizzical 
smile  on  her  face,  and  so  I  remember  her  to  this  day, 
for  I  have  never  seen  her  nor  heard  from  her  since. 

That  was  the  first  time  I  ever  tried  to  make  love  to  a 
sister  of  charity,  and  it  was  the  last.  It  wasn't  a  suc- 
cess. But  then  as  she  said  herself  she  was  not  a  regular 
sister  of  charity. 

From  love  making,  however,  I  was  suddenly  precipi- 
tated into  the  stern  realities  of  soldier  life.  We  were 
marched  up  through  the  dust}7  streets  of  Washington — 
they  were  not  the  magnificent  streets  they  are  now  by 
any  means — and  finally  reached  the  depot.  It  was  late 
in  the  afternoon.  The  miserable  depot  was  crowded 
with  wounded  soldiers,  northward  bound. 

Of  course  there  was  no  train  ready  for  us  to  take. 
There  never  was.  Here  were  hundreds  of  wounded  and 
feeble  soldiers,  waiting  in  that  stuffy  depot,  in  the  hot- 
test weather,  and  it  seemed  impossible  to  get  even  a 
drink  of  water.  We  had  to  remain  there  all  night  and 
till  afternoon  on  the  following  day,  and  I  don't  think  I 
ever  put  in  a  worse  experience.  After  the  luxuries  and 
comforts  we  had  enjoyed  at  the  hospital,  the  contrast 
was  terrible.  We  had  some  miserable  black  coffee  and 
some  of  that  tough  "salt  horse"  dealt  out  to  us,  but 
none  of  us  had  the  appetite  to  eat  such  stuff, 

Finally  we  were  embarked.  They  were  not  exactly 
cattle  cars,  but  they  were  little  better.  The  cars  that 
used  to  be  run  on  the  Erie  emigrant  trains  to  the  West 
were  about  the  sort  we  had.     The  ride  northward  was 


458  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

not  altogether  unpleasant,  for  the  breeze  that  came  in 
through  the  ear  windows  was  a  decided  improvement 
over  the  stuffy  and  suffocating  air  that  we  had  heen 
breathing  in  that  miserable  depot. 

Just  before  dusk  the  train  stopped  in  the  depot  at 
Wilmington,  Delav/are,  and  we  were  removed  to  a  hos- 
pital so  finely  located,  so  beautiful,  and  with  such  sur- 
soundings  that  we  thought  we  had  dropped  into  heaven. 

But  of  this  I  will  have  to  wait  till  the  next  chapt 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  459 


CHAPTER  LXXXIV. 

IN  PHILADELPHIA  HOSPITALS. 

As  said  before,  we  arrived  at  the  hospital  in  Wil- 
mington about  dark  on  a  beautiful  warm  day  early  in 
June,  1863.  I  don't  remember  at  this  late  day  what 
sort  of  a  building  it  was,  but  I  do  remember  that  it  was 
a  beautiful  place.  To  the  best  of  my  recollection  it  was 
a  church  that  had  been  temporarily  transformed  into  a 
hospital. 

In  those  days  everything  was  utilized  for  such  pur- 
poses. The  number  of  wounded  men  and  soldiers  who 
had  become  sick  through  the  exposures  of  army  life, 
was  something  terrible.  Statistics  show  that  ten  times 
as  many  soldiers  are  disabled  from  sickness  as  from 
bullets.  I  have  given  some  idea  of  the  immense  num- 
ber of  the  wounded.  Add  the  sick,  and  the  number  be- 
comes frightful. 

So  eveiything  possible  was  utilized  for  the  purpose  of 
hospital  work,  even  to  churches,  and  if  my  memory 
serves  me  right  the  hospital  in  Wilmington  was  an 
Episcopal  church  that  had  been  turned  into  a  hospital. 
It  was  a  prett}r,  ivy-clad  building  of  stone,  surrounded 
by  large  shade  trees,  and  the  whole  atmosphere  was 
cool  and  pleasant.  It  was  a  great  improvement  in  this 
respect  on  the  rough  board  arrangement  of  wards  that 
composed  the  Lincoln  Hospital  in  Washington,  which 
stood  out  on  the  flats,  unprotected  from  the  sun. 

We  were  assigned  to  snowy  white  cots,  and  given  a 
most  excellent  supper.  But  what  struck  us  all  was  the 
number  of  pretty  girls  who  seemed  to  have  something 
to  do  with  the  place.  There  were  no  sisters  of  charity 
there.  They  were  all  women  in  ordinary  dress  of  life, 
and  a  large  majority  of  them  were  young  ladies.     And 


460  THE  TO Uim    VOLUNTEER. 

they  were  young  ladies  of  refinement,  of  apparently  the 
better  walks  of  life. 

During  the  evening  we  had  a  large  number  of  lady 
visitors,  and  if  all  the  soldiers  felt  as  I  did  their  hearts 
were  beating  with  admiration.  Now  note  the  transi- 
tion: 

In  Virginia  the  only  specimen  of  women  we  saw 
were  of  the  commonest  class.  They  were  what  the 
darkies  used  to  call  "the  poor  white  trash."  They  were 
women  whoso  surroundings  were  those  of  the  direst 
poverty.  Their  dresses,  if  dresses  they  could  be  called, 
were  nothing  more  than  old  bed  quilts  sewed  together. 
They  were  sunburned  and  untidy,  and  anything  but 
attractive. 

In  Washington  all  the  women  we  saw  around  the 
hospital  were  dresssed  as  sisters  of  charity,  and  al- 
though, as  I  have  described  before,  there  were  some 
very  pretty  women  disguised  under  that  homely  dress, 
yet  the  eye  had  become  accustomed  to  the  somber  garb, 
and  woman  had  somehow  or  other  become  associated 
with  the  idea  of  extreme  plainness  and  simplicity. 

But  in  Wilmington!  There  we  for  the  first  time 
since  we  left  home  were  surrounded  with  ladies  dressed 
in  fashionable  attire,  and  the  light  and  bright-colored 
dresses  that  the  ladies  of  the  Southern  cities  wear  in  the 
month  of  June  are  bewitchingly  fascinating. 

White  and  pink  dresses,  straw  hats  trimmed  with  gay- 
colored  ribbons,  and  all  those  delicate  little  nothings 
that  go  to  make  up  the  summer  girl,  were  displayed 
before  us,  and  delighted  our  hungry  eyes.  I  remember 
thinking  how  pretty  my  little  sister  of  charity  friend  in 
Washington  would  have  looked  thus  attired,  but,  truth 
to  tell,  I  almost  forgot  her  in  the  presence  of  the  hand- 
some young  ladies  that  flitted  around  the  hospital  ward 
that  evening. 

One  of  them,  an  extremely  pretty  girl  of  about  my 
own  age  or  perhaps  a  little  younger,  took  a  seat  by  the 
side  of  my  cot,  and  we  had  a  long  and  delightful  talk. 
She  was  very  friendly  and  unusually  intimate  for  such 
a  short  acquaintance,  but  that  was  a  pleasant  waj-  those 
Wilmington  girls  had,  and  as  I  looked  around  I  saw 
that  nearly  every  soldier  in  the  hospital  was  similarly 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  461 

engaged  in  pleasant  conversation  with  one  of  Wilming- 
ton's fair  daughters. 

I  am  rather  inclined  to  think  that  my  particular  girl 
was  somewhat  of  a  flirt  from  the  way  she  talked,  but 
she  found  a  match  in  me  in  that  respect,  I  can  assure 
the  reader.  Before  she  departed  we  had  become  quite 
chummy.  She  had  told  me  the  street  and  number 
where  she  lived,  and  said  that  she  had  two  other  sisters, 
and  they  would  all  be  glad  to  have  me  call  on  them.  I 
promised  to  get  off  the  following  day  and  call  on  them, 
and  went  to  sleep  to  dream  of  pretty  angels  in  white 
dresses  and  pink  ribbons  in  their  hair. 

But  alas !  Wilmington  was  a  sort  of  halfway  house, 
a  stopping  place  on  the  way  to  Philadelphia,  where  the 
principal  hospitals  were  located.  I  did  not  get  to  see 
my  fair  visitor  in  the  morning  after  all,  for  at  an  early 
hour  we  were  ordered  to  fall  in  again,  and  to  our  in- 
tense disgust  we  were  marched  to  the  depot  to  take  the 
train  for  Philadelphia.  My  girl  was  there,  however, 
to  bid  us  good-by.  She  said  it  was  "really  too  bad" 
that  we  had  to  leave  so  soon,  for  she  would  "dearly 
have  loved"  to  have  me  call  to  see  her  and  her  sisters. 

I  did  not  care  a  rap  for  her  sisters,  whom  I  had  never 
seen,  but  I  was  really  sorry  that  I  had  not  the  oppor- 
tunity to  accept  her  invitation,  and  told  her  so  so  warmly 
that  she  blushed.  Just  as  the  conversation  was  getting 
peculiarly  interesting  we  heard  the  signal  to  get  on  the 
cars,  and  a  moment  later  we  were  moving  out  of  the 
depot  amid  enthusiastic  cheers  on  the  part  of  the  men 
and  waving  of  handkerchiefs  by  the  ladies. 

Nothing  unusual  or  particularly  interesting  occurred 
on  the  ride  to  Philadelphia.  It  is  only  a  short  distance  and 
the  trip  took  but  a  short  time.  There  were  perhaps  two 
or  three  hundred  convalescent  wounded  men  in  the 
train  besides  some  who  were  still  in  a  dangerous  con- 
dition.    These  were  taken  care  of  first,  and  carefully. 

Here  is  where  the  beautiful  ambulance  system  of 
Philadelphia  came  in  useful.  I  think  that  I  have  re- 
ferred to  this  feature  somewhere  before.  Each  engine 
company  was  equipped  with  an  ambulance  of  the  most 
elegant  character.  The  exteriors  of  these  vehicles  were 
painted  artistically  to  represent  battle  scenes  and  pathetic 


402  THE  Y0TT2TQ   VOLUNTEER. 

war  episodes,  and  were  of  the  most  gorgeous  character. 
They  were  arranged  in,  as  it  were,  two  stories  o& 
shelves,  each  of  which  would  accommodate  two  soldiers 
lying  flat,  on  a  soft  springy  leathern  mattress.  These 
shelves  were  arranged  to  let  down  at  the  side  and  make 
seats  for  those  who  were  able  to  sit  up.  I  was  one  of 
the  latter.  Eight  men  could  ride  on  the  seats.  The 
ambulance  was  very  springy  and  comfortable  and  the 
ride  to  the  hospital  was  extremely  pleasant. 

The  hospital  to  which  we  were  first  taken  was  at 
Cherry  Hill,  a  Philadelphia  suburb,  but  I  don't  remem- 
ber much  about  that  place,  for  we  only  remained  there 
for  a  day  or  so,  till  we  were  removed  to  the  central  hos- 
pital at  the  corner  of  Broad  and  Cherry  Streets.  This 
had  been  a  big  market  or  railroad  station,  I've  forgotten 
which,  and  had  been  transformed  into  a  first-class  hos- 
pital, with  accommodations  for  several  hundred  patients. 

I  was  located  on  the  third  story,  which  perhaps  con- 
tained a  hundred  wounded  men.  There  was  a  great 
deal  of  red  tape  and  form  about  this  hospital,  and  the 
discipline  was  very  strict.  It  was  a  good  enough  hos- 
pital, but  at  the  same  time  it  was  a  good  deal  like  a 
prison. 

Every  morning  at  10  o'clock  the  surgeon-in-chief 
would  make  his  daily  inspection.  He  was  in  full  uni- 
form, as  was  the  big  staff  of  assistants  that  always  ac- 
companied him.  They  marched  through  the  different 
wards,  past  the  cots,  to  inspect  the  wounded.  We  had 
to  have  the  bandages  removed  from  our  wounds  so  that 
the}r  could  be  seen  as  the  doctors  passed. 

To  us  who  were  only  comparatively  slightly  wounded 
not  much  attention  was  paid.  Sometimes  the  doctors 
would  stop  and  handle  the  wound  in  a  perfunctory  and 
at  times  rough  sort  of  a  way,  but  that  was  all.  But 
when  they  came  to  a  particularly  bad  case  they  would 
stop  and  give  the  matter  more  attention. 

This  was  a  sort  of  clinic.  The  head  surgeon  would 
examine  the  wound  and  perhaps  do  some  probing,  while 
the  subordinates  would  stand  around  and  watch  the 
operation  as  the  surgeon-in-chief  would  give  a  sort  of  a 
lecture  on  the  character  of  the  injury  and  its  treatment. 
I  will  describe  just  one  of  these  serious  cases : 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  463 

It  was  the  case  or  a  poor  wretch  who  had  heen  struck 
on  the  hip  with  a  piece  of  shell.  It  had  broken  the  hip 
bone  into  slivers,  which  of  course  made  a  running  sore. 
Every  morning  the  doctors  would  stop  at  this  cot  and 
after  a  great  deal  of  probing,  would  remove  one  of  the 
slivers  of  bone.  For  some  reason  they  did  not  give  the 
patient  an  anaesthetic,  and  from  the  way  he  yelled  and 
howled  it  must  have  been  excruciatingly  painful. 

This  was  kept  up  for  a  week  or  ten  days.  Every  time 
the  doctors  would  stop  at  the  side  of  the  poor  fellow 
they  would  gather  around  while  one  of  the  surgeons 
fished  under  the  sore  flesh  for  another  sliver  of  bone, 
and  never  stopped  till  they  removed  it.  I  remember  one 
morning  the  surgeon -in -chief,  after  hacking  at  the  fel- 
low for  some  time  and  removing  an  infinitesimal ly 
small  bit  of  bone,  made  the  remark:  "To-morrow  we 
will  perform  the  principal  [operation  and  see  if  we  can- 
not remove  the  large  piece  that  we  feel."  The  poor 
fellow  gave  a  groan  over  the  prospect  that  echoed 
through  the  ward. 

The  next  morning  when  the  long  string  of  doctors 
entered,  and  the  patient  referred  to  saw  them  coming, 
he  gave  vent  to  a  series  of  shrieks  and  yells  that  made 
our  hearts  stand  still.  He  was  apprehending  the  opera- 
tion that  the  doctors  had  been  talking  about  the  day 
before. 

They  did  not  give  him  ether,  but  began  carving  at 
him  without  much  preliminary.  I  never  heard  a  man 
cry  and  yell  from  pain  as  loudly  as  he  did.  It  was  ter- 
rible. We  had  to  stuff  our  fingers  in  our  ears  so  as  to 
keep  out  the  sound  of  his  agonizing  voice.  He  begged 
them  to  kill  him  outright  and  put  him  out  of  misery. 
Then  he  cursed  them  for  a  lot  of  devils  and  butchers. 
He  prayed  and  cursed  almost  in  the  same  voice,  and  so 
loud  that  it  was  simply  a  yell. 

The  doctors  finally  got  the  bone  out,  and  left  the  suf- 
fering wretch  writhing  in  agony  and  alternately  pray- 
ing and  cursing.  He  kept  this  up  for  perhaps  an  hour 
and  then  suddenly  all  was  ominously  quiet. 

Directly  I  saw  a  crowd  of  attendants  around  the  cot. 
There  was  a  brief  consultation.  Then  somebody  brought 
a  sheet  and  spread  it  over  the  man.     Then  two  men 


464  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

brought  in  a  stretcher,  and  lifting  the  body  on  it  car- 
ried it  out.     He  was  dead. 

I  must  say  that  we  all  felt  glad  he  was  dead  and  out 
of  his  terrible  suffering. 

This  is  only  one  case  of  many.  I  simply  relate 
this  as  an  example  of  some  of  the  terrible  heartrending 
scenes  in  the  hospital  that  we  were  continually  witness- 
ing. 

After  a  week  or  so  at  the  Broad  and  Cherry  hospital 
I  was  removed  to  the  one  at  the  corner  of  Sixteenth  and 
Filbert  Streets.  This  was  a  large  building,  originally 
erected  for  manufacturing  purposes.  It  was  only  one 
block  from  Market  Street,  on  the  corner  of  which  stood 
a  large  market  building. 

I  remained  at  this  hospital  till  I  got  well.  When 
able  to  be  about  I  was  put  on  light  duties,  such  as 
standing  guard  at  the  door.  Then  when  I  could  use  my 
hand  somewhat  I  was  appointed  as  a  sort  of  an  assistant 
to  the  surgeons  when  they  were  operating.  In  this 
manner  I  learned  considerable  about  surgery,  and  more 
than  once  personally  applied  an  anaesthetic  and  did  a 
little  in  the  line  of  sewing  up  simple  wounds.  Then 
they  put  me  in  the  dispensary  and  under  instructions  I 
put  up  many  prescriptions.  The  doctor  in  charge  took 
a  fancy  to  me,  and  spent  considerable  time  in  explaining 
the  uses  of  the  different  drugs  aDd  the  fundamental 
principles  of  surgery. 

All  this,  however,  did  not  save  me  from  a  little  duty 
in  the  line  of  standing  guard.  This  duty  was  very 
light.  I  only  had  to  stand  on  guard  at  the  corner  of 
Market  and  Filbert  Streets  from  9  to  11  o'clock  every 
other  night.  "What  particular  use  we  were  there  for  I 
never  discovered.  Our  only  instructions  were  to  stop 
the  soldiers  coming  through  Filbert  Street  and  make 
them  show  their  passes.  If  they  had  no  passes  we 
were  to  get  their  names  and  report  them.  But  nothing 
was  ever  done  with  those  who  had  no  passes,  so  that 
I  never  saw  any  use  for  the  service. 

It  should  be  explained  that  in  Washington,  Phila- 
delphia and  other  cities  where  hospitals  were  located, 
no  one  could  leave  the  institution  without  a  pass.  It 
was  easy  enough  to  get  these  passes,  and  the  soldiers 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  465 

were  practically  free,  between  certain  hours,  but  if  they 
did  not  have  the  passes  they  were  liable  to  be  taken  in 
by  the  provost  guards. 

There  were  many  hospitals  in  Philadelphia  in  those 
days  and  the  city  was  so  filled  with  soldiers  that  it 
almost  resembled  a  camp.  There  were  as  many  soldiers 
as  civilians,  and  perhaps  more. 

It  was  while  I  was  in  Philadelphia  that  the  news 
came  of  the  battle  of  Gettysburg.  There  had  been  in- 
tense excitement  in  the  city  for  several  days,  for  the 
news  had  arrived  that  the  rebels  were  marching  north- 
ward and  it  would  not  be  surprising  if  thejr  got  as  far  as 
Philadelphia.  Consequently  there  was  an  incipient 
panic  all  through  the  city,  and  the  public  nerve  was  on 
a  great  strain. 

This  was  the  state  of  affairs  when  the  news  came  that 
General  Meade  had  met  and  repulsed  Lee  at  Gettysburg 
after  a  desperate  three  days'  fight.  Now  it  so  happened 
that  General  Meade,  who  was  in  command  of  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac  at  Gettysburg,  was  not  only  a  Pennsyl- 
vanian,  but  a  former  resident  of  Philadelphia,  and  con- 
sequently there  was  a  strong  local  pride  in  his  conduct. 
When  the  news  came  that  the  army  under  General 
Meade  had  repulsed  the  Confederate  army  under  Gen- 
eral Lee,  the  entire  city  went  wild  with  enthusiasm. 

Flags  were  displayed  everywhere,  and  one  could  not 
look  a  block  through  any  street  without  seeing  an  ele- 
gant banner  stretched  across  in  honor  of  the  occasion. 
The  sale  of  soda  water  was  superseded  by  the  sale  of 
"mead,"  a  sort  of  root  beer,  which  at  once  became  the 
popular  drink. 

In  the  West  General  Grant  had  just  achieved  one  of 
the  remarkable  victories  that  brought  him  into  promi- 
nence, and  this,  coupled  with  General  Meade's  victory 
in  Pennsylvania,  filled  the  nation  from  one  end  to  the 
other  with  enthusiasm;  but  nowhere  was  it  more 
marked  than  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia.  I  remember 
one  particular  banner  which  happily  referred  to  both 
the  successful  generals,  and  which  read  as  follows : 

"To  our  victorious  commanders,  we  Grant  the  Meade 
of  praise." 

The  author  of  that  happy  and  appropriate  expression 


466  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

made  the  hit  of  his  life,  for  it  became  a  regular  catch 
word,  and  was  kept  standing  at  the  head  of  the  editorial 
columns  of  the  papers. 

And,  by  the  way,  the  principal  paper  read  in  Phila- 
delphia in  those  exciting  days  was  the  Jnguirer,  The 
Philadelphia  Inquirer  and  the  Baltimore  American 
were  about  the  only  newspapers  that  anybody  in  Phila- 
delphia read  then.  We  seldom  or  never  saw  a  New 
York  paper,  although  occasionally  I  came  across  a  copy 
of  the  Herald. 

Through  these  papers  I  read  of  the  gallant  part  taken 
by  the  Thirteenth  Regiment  in  the  battle  of  Gettysburg. 
I  rather  kind  of  wished  I  was  with  them  to  share  the 
glory,  but  on  the  other  hand  I  rather  think  that  I  felt 
perfectly  satisfied  to  be  where  I  was. 

It  wasn't  long  before  some  of  the  wounded  men  of 
the  Thirteenth  Regiment  turned  up  in  the  Philadelphia 
hospitals,  and  from  them  I  got  a  full  account  of  the  part 
they  took  in  the  battle.  When  I  heard  this  I  was  more 
than  ever  glad  that  I  was  not  present  on  that  occasion. 
And  a  year  or  so  ago,  when  I  went  over  the  battle 
grounds  and  visited  every  one  of  the  three  hundred  and 
sixty-six  handsome  monuments  there,  I  was  more  than 
ever  convinced  that  I  was  sensible  in  getting  com- 
paratively slightly  wounded  at  Chancellorsville. 

It  was  also  while  I  was  in  Philadelphia  that  the  great 
riot  occurred  in  New  York,  when  the  Tribune  building 
was  partially  wrecked,  and  when  so  many  people  were 
killed.  That  was  the  time  when  every  negro  who  came 
in  sight  v/as  hung  to  the  nearest  lamp  post.  Several 
regiments  from  the  front  had  to  be  brought  North  from 
fighting  the  common  enemy  to  suppress  another  rebel- 
lion that  had  started  right  in  the  principal  city  of  the 
nation. 

The  anti-war  feeling  that  was  the  principal  incentive 
to  that  riot  in  New  York  had  spread  to  a  greater  or  less 
extent  all  over  the  country,  and  there  were  signs  of  its 
spreading.  It  might  have  become  national,  in  fact,  but 
for  the  prompt  measures  that  were  taken  to  suppress  it 
in  its  incipiency. 

This  riotous  sentiment  spread  even  to  Philadelphia, 
but  the  measures  taken  there  were  prompt  and  decisive. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  4G7 

Large  bodies  of  armed  men  were  stationed  all  over,  in 
the  market  houses  and  other  piaces  and  drilled  in  the 
riot  tactics.  Their  guns  were  loaded  with  bullets  and 
had  the  riot  started  there  would  have  been  some  bloody 
work. 

Philadelphia  is  a  city  grid  ironed  with  street  railroads. 
It  was  even  so  in  those  days.  Hastily  the  tops  were 
torn  off  many  passenger  cars,  and  they  were  made  into 
platform  cars.  On  the  platforms  of  these  cars  were 
placed  howitzers,  loaded  with  grape  and  canister. 
The  cars,  fully  manned,  were  run  into  the  depots  of  the 
street  railroads,  and  remained  there  ready  for  instant 
emergency.  There  were  not  enough  artillerymen  in 
the  city  to  man  all  these  portable  batteries,  and  infan- 
trymen were  pressed  into  the  service. 

To  this  duty  I  was  assigned,  greatly  to  my  terror.  I 
didn't  want  to  be  killed  in  a  riot,  after  having  passed 
through  several  battles  in  the  front !  But  there  I  was. 
I  was  given  a  big  wooden  ramrod,  with  a  brush  ar- 
rangement on  the  end,  and  they  told  me  it  was  a 
"swab."  I  was  shown  how  to  use  it.  Immediately 
after  the  cannon  had  been  fired  I  was  to  clean  out  the 
barrel  with  the  swab,  and  then  step  to  one  side  for  the 
next  man  to  push  in  another  cartridge — an  arrange- 
ment that  looked  like  a  bag  of  salt. 

But  fortunately  for  the  unruly  element  of  Philadel- 
phia, they  did  not  break  out  into  a  riot  and  my  services 
as  chief  swabber  were  not  required.  The  chances  are 
that  I  would  have  been  so  excited  that  I  would  have 
forgotten  to  pull  out  the  wooden  ramrod  arrangement 
and  some  citizen  of  Philadelphia  might  have  been  hunt- 
ing for  a  doctor  with  a  thick  wooden  bar  sticking 
through  his  stomach ! 

We  had  lots  of  good  times  in  Philadelphia.  The 
Chestnut  Street  and  Walnut  Street  theaters  were  run- 
ning and  I  visited  them  several  times  a  week.  I  re- 
member the  spectacular  play  of  "Joseph  and  his  Breth- 
ren" in  Walnut  Street,  and  in  the  Chestnut  Street 
theater  I  saw  "The  Duke's  Motto"  and  Edwin  Booth 
in  "Hamlet,"  while  in  the  Arch  Street  theater  I  saw 
the  debut  of  Caroline  Richings  in  opera,  under  the  man- 
agement of  the  late  Edmon  S.  Conner. 


488  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

Taken  altogether,  therefore,  our  soldier  life  in  Phila- 
delphia was  not  unpleasant,  and  the  several  months  we 
spent  there  were  enjoyable. 

Some  time  in  the  fall  an  officer  came  around  to 
examine  us  to  see  if  we  were  sufficiently  recovered  to  be 
returned  to  our  regiments.  A  good  many  were  pro- 
nounced able  to  go  back  to  the  field.  I  can't  say  that  I 
felt  happy  at  this  prospect,  but  I  could  only  obey  if  so 
ordered. 

But  after  my  examination,  I  was  informed  that  I  was 
not  to  go  back.  I  was  to  be  transferred  to  the  Invalid 
Corps. 

And  here  is  to  be  introduced  another  branch  of  army 
life,  about  which  not  much  has  been  written.  And  it 
leads  into  a  very  interesting  branch  of  the  writer's  mili- 
tary experience.  But  of  that  I  will  wait  for  another 
chapter. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  469 


CHAPTER  LXXXV. 

A   BOLD    STEP. 

About  the  time  the  war  was  about  half  through,  say 
the  latter  part  of  1863,  the  government  began  to  be  con- 
fronted by  an  unprecedented  condition  of  affairs.  In 
the  North  the  supply  of  volunteers  was  becoming  too 
small  to  meet  the  calls  for  troops,  and  drafting  was 
about  to  be  resorted  to.  In  the  army  large  numbers  of 
men  were  being  disabled  by  wounds  and  from  the  sick- 
ness caused  by  exposure  from  service  in  the  field. 

Necessarily,  many  able-bodied  men,  who  were  capable 
of  performing  duty  at  the  front,  were  being  kept  in  the 
rear  for  duty  as  guardsmen,  orderlies,  clerks,  etc.,  at 
the  headquarters,  around  the  provost  guard  posts,  and 
other  places,  where  the  service  required  was  indispen- 
sable yet  not  physically  arduous. 

It  struck  some  one  to  use  the  wounded  men  for  this 
reserve  service,  and  after  a  good  many  different  sugges- 
tions had  been  made  and  rejected,  a  branch  of  the  army, 
called  the  "Invalid  Corps,"  was  organized. 

The  Invalid  Corps,  at  first,  was  composed  o  f  two 
battalions,  the  first  and  the  second.  The  Second  Bat- 
talion was  composed  of  men  who  had  lost  a  leg  or  arm. 
They  could  elect  whether  to  be  discharged  or  remain  in 
the  service  in  the  Second  Battalion,  and  the  most  of  them 
selected  the  service,  for  they  began  to  appreciate  the 
fact  that  a  man  minus  one  of  the  more  important  mem- 
bers of  his  body  was  lucky  if  he  could  get  anything  to 
do  to  earn  a  living.  These  men,  however,  could  run 
errands,  stand  guard  at  gates  and  doorways,  and  do  a 
thousand  and  one  little  things  as  well  as  a  strong,  able- 
bodied  man,  who  might  better  be  utilized  at  the  front. 

The  First  Battalion  was  composed  of  men  less  seri- 
ously injured,  such  as  those  with  the  loss  of  a  part  of  a 


470  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

hand  or  foot,  or  who  limped  or  suffered  in  some  other 
way  to  such  an  extent  that  they  were  not  able  to  do 
active  duty  at  the  front  in  the  field.  The  latter  had  no 
class  choice.  They  were  put  in  the  Invalid  Corps 
whether  they  liked  it  or  not,  and  could  not  elect  to  be 
discharged  like  those  who  went  into  the  other  battalion. 

It  was  into  this  branch  that  I  was  drafted.  I  not 
only  missed  the  part  of  my  hand,  but  the  wounds  in 
my  hip  and  foot  made  me  limp  considerably,  and  it  was 
impossible  for  me  to  walk  any  great  distance.  At  the 
same  time  I  was  able  to  do  pretty  good  service  in  every- 
thing that  did  not  involve  marching  or  remaining  out 
in  the  hot  sun,  for  the  effects  of  the  serious  sunstroke  I 
had  received  at  Rockville  had  begun  to  trouble  me  con- 
siderably more  than  they  did  at  first. 

And  thus  it  was  that  I  was  transferred  into  the  In- 
valid Corps  during  the  latter  part  of  the  year  1863. 
This  meant  that  I  should  serve  my  time  out  in  this 
branch  of  the  service,  and  never  rejoin  the  regiment 
again.  But  my  heart  was  with  them  and  I  closely  fol- 
lowed the  movements  of  my  old  companions  wherever 
they  went. 

I  should  say  right  here  that  the  name  Invalid  Corps 
did  not  stick  to  the  organization  very  long.  There  was 
something  about  the  name  that  was  for  some  reason 
considered  opprobrious,  and  ridicule  was  thrown  on 
that  branch  of  the  service  for  no  other  reason  than  the 
title.  So,  at  the  suggestion  of  some  of  the  leading 
officers  of  the  organization,  the  name  was  charged  to 
"Veteran  Reserve  Corps,"  and  so  it  continued  to  the 
end  of  the  war,  and  it  became  a  very  useful  branch  of 
the  service. 

The  officers  of  the  Veteran  Reserve  Corps  were  com- 
missioned by  the  President  of  the  United  States  instead 
of  by  the  governors  of  the  different  States,  as  were  the 
ordinary  volunteers.  In  fact  the  commission  of  an 
officer  in  the  Veteran  Reserve  Corps  was  the  same  as 
one  of  the  regular  army,  and  the  rank  was  the  same — 
that  is,  about  one  grade  higher,  rank  for  rank,  than  the 
officers  of  the  volunteer  service. 

After  the  usual  formalities  of  my  transfer  from  the 
Thirteenth  New  Jersey  to  the  Veteran  Reserve  Corps,  I 


THE  YQUXTG   VOLUNTEER.  471 

was  assigned  to  Company  D,  Sixteenth  Regiment, 
which  was  formed  at  Philadelphia,  but  immediately 
transferred  to  Elmira,  New  York. 

At  the  latter  place  were  located  large  military  prisons 
for  the  confinement  of  rebel  captives.  The  prisons,  as 
well  as  the  quarters  for  the  men,  were  nothing  more 
than  rough  barracks.  The  prisoners  might  have  broken 
out  at  any  time  almost,  but  the  security  depended  upon 
for  their  safety  consisted  in  the  cordon  of  guards  sta- 
tioned about  the  buildings,  and  the  large  reserve  guard 
which  was  always  kept  on  duty  at  the  guardhouse  to 
be  called  upon  at  any  moment. 

The  rebel  prisoners  were  a  dirty,  untidy,  forlorn- 
looking  lot  of  men,  but  as  a  whole  tolerably  good- 
natured  and  affording  not  the  slightest  trouble  to  keep 
under  control.  They  were  comfortably  housed,  not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  the  weather  was  cold  (and 
there  was  snow  on  the  ground  all  the  time  I  was  at 
Elmira),  and  they  were  better  fed  than  they  had  been  at 
any  time  during  their  service  in  the  Confederate  army. 
In  fact  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  some  of  them  were 
better  fed  than  they  ever  were  at  their  homes  in  the 
South,  for  the  class  of  men  we  had  in  our  charge  was  not 
representative  of  the  so-called  aristocratic  chivalry  of 
the  sunny  South. 

The  rebels  in  our  charge  were  prisoners  in  name  and 
in  fact,  but  they  were  a  happy-go-lucky  lot,  and  didn't 
seem  to  care  for  anything  except  to  eat.  In  marked 
contrast  with  their  condition  was  the  horrible  treatment 
received  by  the  starved  and  illy  treated  Northern  sol- 
diers who  were  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  confined  in  those 
death-holes,  Libby  and  Andersonville. 

Our  life  at  Elmira  during  the  late  fall  and  early  win- 
ter of  1863  was  monotonous  in  the  extreme.  There 
wasn't  much  to  be  seen  in  Elmira  in  those  days,  for  it 
was  a  comparatively  small  place.  About  the  only 
place  of  amusement  in  the  town  was  a  little  one-horse 
sort  of  music  hall,  where  we  occasionally  went  in  the 
evening,  and  my  recollection  of  the  place  altogether  is 
that  of  its  being  intolerably  stupid  and  uninteresting. 

For  some  reason,  perhaps  from  inspiration,  but  more 
likely  because  I  had  nothing  better  to  do,  I  spent  many 


472  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

of  the  long  evenings  in  studying  the  revised  army  regu- 
lations, articles  of  war  and  tactics.  Theoretically  I  Lad 
all  these  things  at  my  fingers'  ends.  I  don't  know 
what  ever  took  me  to  studying  them,  but  as  it  turned 
out  shortly  it  was  a  happy  thing  for  me  that  I  did  so. 

One  evening  while  in  the  captain's  office  helping  him 
make  out  some  reports,  I  happened  to  pick  up  a  circular 
issued  from  the  office  of  Provost  Marshal  General  James 
B.  Fry,  who  at  that  time  seemed  to  he  at  the  head  of 
the  Veteran  Corps.  H9  was  a  sort  of  secretary  of  war 
for  that  branch  of  the  service,  as  it  were. 

This  circular  was  to  the  effect  that  examinations 
would  be  held  in  the  city  of  Washington  on  January 
27,  1864,  for  the  appointment  of  sixteen  lieutenants  of 
the  Veteran  Reserve  Corps,  and  it  was  desired  that  this 
examination  be  confined  to  members  of  the  corps.  The 
circular  gave  full  instructions  how  to  proceed. 

My  heart  jumped  into  my  throat  at  the  sight  of  this. 
It  seemed  to  be  so  presumptuous  that  I  hardly  had  the 
nerve  to  mention  it  to  anybody.  But  the  more  I 
thought  of  it  the  stronger  did  the  feeling  become,  till  at 
last,  on  the  following  morning,  I  went  to  the  captain's 
office  and  informed  him  that  I  desired  to  make  an  appli- 
cation for  examination  for  a  commissioned  officer. 

The  captain  looked  at  me  with  a  smile.  He  saw  be- 
fore him  a  boy  not  yet  twenty  years  old,  not  at  all  im- 
posing in  appearance,  in  fact  very  youthful-looking, 
and  anything  in  the  world  seemed  more  appropriate 
than  to  imagine  him  in  the  uniform  of  a  commissioned 
officer.     No  wonder  the  captain  laughed. 

But  I  meant  it,  and  soon  impressed  the  captain  with 
my  earnestness.  He  at  once  took  some  interest  in  my 
case,  and  assisted  me  in  writing  my  application.  The 
circular,  however,  said  that  the  application  must  be 
accompanied  by  a  recommendation  from  my  former  com- 
pany officers. 

Then  I  remembered  the  conversation  I  once  had  with 
Captain  Hopkins,  of  Company  K.  He  had  promised 
that  if  ever  I  wanted  him  to  do  anything  for  me  he 
would  do  it,  and  it  will  perhaps  be  remembered  at 
the  time  I  told  him  I  would  remember  the  promise 
and,  call  upon  him  to  keep  it.     So  I  wrote  to  Captain 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  473 

Hopkins  and  asked  him  to  get  the  approval  of  my  old 
officers,  not  only  from  Company  K,  but  if  possible 
from  Colonel  Carman  as  well. 

I  felt  a  little  doubtful  about  the  latter.  The  last  time 
I  had  spoken  to  Colonel  Carman  was  down  near  Wolf 
Run  Shoals.  The  supply  of  provisions  had  run  short 
and  we  were  for  two  or  three  days  in  danger  of  being 
starved  to  death.  It  was  all  the  result  of  blundering  on 
the  part  of  the  officers.  Being  possessed  of  the  penchant 
for  newspaper  correspondence,  and  having  had  two  or 
three  letters  already  published  in  the  New  York  Herald, 
I  sent  that  paper  a  very  interesting  account  of  our  half- 
starved  condition,  which  was  published.  In  that  letter 
I  gave  the  officers  the  dickens,  and  pitched  into  Colonel 
Carman  especially. 

By  some  bad  luck  a  copy  of  the  Herald  containing 
the  letter  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  colonel.  He  showed 
it  to  General  Euger,  and  the  result  of  it  was  that  I 
was  clapped  into  the  guardhouse.  After  being  there 
several  hours  the  colonel  came  to  visit  me.  He  gave 
me  a  scolding.  There  was  no  law  that  prevented  a 
private  from  sending  a  letter  to  a  newspaper,  and 
that  was  the  only  punishment  he  could  give  me.  But 
he  exacted  a  promise  from  me  that  I  would  not  write 
any  more  letters  to  newspapers,  and  not  knowing  any 
better  at  the  time,  I  complied  and  stopped  my  corre- 
spondence. 

That  was  the  last  conversation  I  had  had  personally 
with  the  colonel  before  I  left  the  regiment  a  wounded 
soldier  at  the  battle  of  Chancellorsville.  I  therefore 
had  very  little  hopes  of  receiving  the  recommendation 
of  Colonel  Carman. 

But  nevertheless  I  did.  In  the  course  of  a  couple  of 
weeks  or  so  the  answer  to  my  letter  to  Captain  Hopkins 
was  received.  The  kind  captain  had  more  than  kept 
his  promise  to  me.  The  recommendation  he  sent  was  of 
the  strongest  possible  character.  It  commended  me  for 
ray  intelligence,  faithfulness  to  duty,  and  of  all  things 
in  the  world,  for  my  bravery  and  courage  in  the  field  of 
battle  in  the  face  of  the  enemy.  In  fact  the  document 
was  so  extremely  complimentary,  that  to  use  a  modern 
expression  I  was  "quite  stuck  on  myself." 


474  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

But,  what  was  my  surprise,  on  turning  the  recom- 
mendation over  to  find  that  it  was  signed  by  every 
officer  of  the  Thirteenth  Regiment.  The  document  bore 
the  signatures  of  some  officers  that  I  had  never  spoken 
to  in  my  life,  and  who  did  not  know  the  difference  be- 
tween me  and  a  side  of  sole  leather.  But  I  could  see 
through  it  all.  They  had  all  done  this  at  the  request 
of  Captain  Hopkins.  Kind  captain !  How  grateful  I 
felt  to  him  for  this.  I  immediately  sat  down  and  wrote 
him  my  thanks,  and  as  they  were  expressive  of  my  feel- 
ing just  at  that  particular  moment  they  must  have  been 
very  warm. 

The  next  thing  was  to  get  a  furlough  for  ten  days  to 
go  to  Washington  to  pass  the  examination.  This  was 
easily  secured,  under  the  circumstances.  Not  only  does 
a  commmissioned  officer  stand  higher  socially  and  other  - 
v/ise  than  a  private,  but  the  very  fact  that  a  private 
stands  a  slight  chance  of  being  a  commissioned  officer 
puts  him  in  a  position  to  taste  for  the  first  time  the 
privileges  of  a  commission.  Colonel  Stephen  A.  Moore, 
the  commander  of  the  Sixteenth  Regiment,  V.  R.  C. ,  at 
once  granted  me  the  desired  furlough  and  kindly  wished 
me  every  good  luck  on  my  journey. 

"If  you  don't  return  wearing  a  pair  of  shoulder 
straps,"  said  he  good-naturedly,  "I'll  put  you  in  the 
guardhouse." 

Now  that  it  began  to  look  so  much  like  business  I 
began  to  be  frightened.  I  almost  felt  like  backing  out. 
The  idea  of  my  going  to  Washington  and  undertaking 
to  pass  an  examination  to  prove  that  I  was  able  and 
qualified  to  hold  a  commission  in  a  branch  of  the  regu- 
lar army  was  overwhelming.  It  seemed  such  a  piece 
of  cheek  that  I  half -felt  a  mind  to  tear  up  the  furlough 
and  give  the  whole  thing  up. 

But  on  the  other  hand  I  considered  what  a  glorious 
thing  it  would  be  to  be  a  commissioned  officer,  to  wear 
shoulder  straps,  and  to  step  into  the  other  estate  so  high 
above  that  of  the  enlisted  soldier.  I  concluded  to  go 
on,  and  face  it  through,  whatever  the  result.  And  on 
the  evening  of  January  26th,  the  day  before  that  set  for 
the  commencement  of  the  examination,  I  found  myself 
in  Washington  again. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  475 

I  put  up  at  the  old  National  Hotel.  As  I  looked  into 
the  glass  that  night  I  was  struck  at  my  extremely 
youthful  appearance,  and  more  than  ever  was  overcome 
with  the  cheek  I  had  in  thinking  of  being  a  commis- 
sioned officer.  My  mustache  had  just  begun  to  show 
itself.  It  was  a  mere  downy  mass  on  my  upper  lip, 
hardly  distinguishable  to  the  naked  eye !  My  hair  was 
long,  uncouth  and  scraggly.  If  I  remember  rightly  the 
last  time  it  was  cut  it  was  by  one  of  my  comrades  in  the 
barracks,  and  it  looked  as  if  it  had  been  hacked  off  with 
a  carving  knife. 

A  happy  thought  struck  me.  I  must  do  something 
with  that  mustache.  Every  officer  wore  a  mustache, 
that  is,  every  officer  in  Washington.  The  larger  the 
mustache  the  more  dignified  and  ferocious  an  officer 
looked.  In  fact  to  a  certain  extent  the  importance  of  a 
commissioned  officer  in  those  days  was  based  on  the  size 
and  impressiveness  of  his  mustache. 

I  must  do  something  to  make  my  mustache  show 
more  plainly.  At  first  I  thought  I  would  get  a  false 
one,  such  as  they  wear  at  masquerades,  and  paste  it  on 
my  upper  lip.  But  I  discarded  that  idea  as  being  too 
dangerous.  Suppose  the  thing  should  drop  off  while  I 
was  undergoing  the  examination !  That  would  ruin  my 
chances  at  once.  I  would  be  iguominiously  relegated  to 
my  regiment  as  a  private  for  trying  to  get  a  commis- 
sion under  false  pretenses. 

But  at  last  I  solved  the  problem.  I  would  go  to  the 
barber's  and  have  that  mustache  dyed  black.  Then  it 
would  show  more  plainly.  Further,  I  would  get  my 
hair  cut  to  a  crop,  and  the  comparison  would  make  the 
mustache  still  more  prominent.  I  had  solved  the  diffi- 
culty at  once,  and  immediately  proceeded  to  put  it  into 
execution. 

I  found  a  barber's  shop  on  the  first  floor  of  the  hotel, 
stretched  myself  back  into  che  chair  and  gave  the  Older. 
The  barbers  were  all  colored  men  in  Washington  in 
those  days,  and  I  remembered  the  smiling  look  my  man 
gave  his  next  companion  as  I  gave  the  order  to  have 
my  mustache  dyed. 

But  it  was  accomplished  at  last.  It  cost  me  eighty 
cents  for  the  job,  but  I  never  invested  eighty  cents  that 


476  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

gave  me  greater  satisfaction.  WhenI  surveyed  myself 
in  the  glass,  I  straightened  myself  out  with  ineffable 
pride — for  my  mustache  could  be  seen  clear  across  the 
room.  I  squinted  my  eyes  downward  and  could  even 
get  a  glance  of  it  below  my  nose.  It  was  the  first  time 
in  my  life  that  I  had  been  able  to  see  my  own  mustache ! 

I  took  a  short  walk  through  Pennsylvania  Avenue, 
clean  gone  on  myself.  I  wondered  if  everybody  did  not 
notice  that  I  was  some  distinguished  personage,  with 
such  a  big  mustache !  I  felt  at  least  a  foot  taller  than 
I  did  before.  With  an  air  of  importance  I  stalked  into 
a  saloon  and  asked  for  a  cocktail ! 

"Can't  sell  liquor  to  enlisted  men,"  said  the  bar- 
keeper. 

I  had  forgotten.  I  was  only  a  private  yet.  I  had 
forgotten  that  I  still  wore  my  dingy  blue  suit  of  a  pri- 
vate in  the  "Veteran  Reserve  Corps.  If  I  had  the  shoul- 
der straps  I  might  have  filled  myself  up  with  liquor  till 
I  could  not  stand.     But  none  was  sold  to  a  private. 

There  was  a  feeling  of  humiliation  about  this.  The 
idea  that  a  man  cannot  buy  what  he  wants  when  he  has 
money  in  his  pocket,  simply  because  of  his  rank,  is  very 
galling  to  a  native-born  American.  But  such  was  the 
rule.  Washington  was  under  martial  law,  so  far  as  the 
soldiers  were  concerned,  and  any  saloon  keeper  who 
sold  liquor  to  an  enlisted  man  in  uniform  was  liable  to 
have  his  license  revoked.  Had  I  put  on  a  citizen's 
suit  I  might  have  got  all  the  liquor  I  wanted.  But 
then,  strange  as  it  may  appear  now,  it  was  against  the 
law  for  an  enlisted  soldier  to  wear  a  civilian  suit  of 
clothes.  It  was  regarded  as  a  prima  facie  evidence  that 
the  man  was  disguising  himself  for  the  purpose  of  de- 
serting. Another  evidence  of  the  degradation  of  low 
rank ! 

I  really  didn't  want  the  drink.  I  had  merely  gone 
in  because  I  just  then  felt  my  importance,  and  because 
it  was  a  proper  sign  of  importance  for  a  man  in  my  po- 
sition to  go  into  a  saloon  and  order  a  drink.  But  I  had 
come  down  like  the  stick  of  a  used-up  sky  rocket.  I 
had  a  mustache  that  could  be  seen,  it  is  true,  but  the 
other  necessity,  the  shoulder  straps,  were  not  yet  visible. 
I  had  to  go  through  something  worse  than  a  barber's 
shop  before  I  got  that  insignia  of  rank. 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  47? 

The  examination  was  to  begin  the  next  morning  at  10 
o'clock,  and  I  was  on  hand  bright  and  early.  No  sooner 
had  I  arrived,  however,  than  I  was  almost  paralyzed 
with  the  prospect. 

As  I  said  before,  the  circular  of  instructions  said  that 
there  were  sixteen  appointments  to  be  made.  What 
was  my  horror  to  find  that  there  were  at  least  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  men  there  to  be  examined. 

And  some  of  them  were  very  important-looking. 
Some  looked  as  if  they  had  already  held  commissioned 
offices.  Many  of  them  looked  wise  and  important. 
Nearly  every  one  was  older  than  I.  In  fact  I  think 
that  I  was  the  youngest  man  there,  and  I  imagined  that 
some  of  the  others  looked  at  me  with  a  disdainful  air. 
Worst  of  all,  most  of  the  other  candidates  had  mus- 
taches ten  times  as -formidable-looking  as  the  miserable 
little  black  dyed  outline  of  hair  on  my  upper  lip !  What 
chances  had  I  alongside  such  an  array  of  formidable 
hirsute  adornment ! 

An  airish  and  important-looking  officer  came  from 
another  apartment  into  the  room  where  we  were  hud- 
dled and  read  off  the  list  of  applicants,  like  a  roll  call. 
The  list  was  made  out  in  the  order  the  applications  had 
been  received.  Mine  was  nearly  to  the  bottom.  Another 
discouraging  thing,  I  thought.  The  appointments 
would  all  be  filled  before  my  name  was  reached. 

I  took  a  note  of  the  time  it  would  take  before  my  turn 
came,  and  from  the  time  it  took  for  the  first  ones  to  be 
examined,  calculated  that  it  would  be  quite  late  in  the 
afternoon  before  my  turn  was  reached.  As  I  sat  there 
looking  over  the  circular  of  instructions  again,  I  sud- 
denlv  jumped  at  the  sight  of  a  name  I  had  not  noticed 
before.  It  was  that  of  "Colonel  M.  N.  Wisewell,"  an 
officer  who  held  an  important  position  in  the  office  of 
the  provost  marshal  general,  and  whose  name  was 
signed  to  the  circular. 

How  well  I  recognized  the  familiar  signature.  Of 
all  the  men  in  the  world,  I  could  have  wished  for  none 
more  just  then  than  Colonel  Wisewell.     Let  me  explain. 

When  I  lived  in  Yonkers,  New  York,  a  boy,  I  went  for 
a  while  to  M.  N.  Wise  well's  military  academy.  It  was 
there  that  I  received  my  first  instruction.     My  father 


478  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

had  only  sent  me  there  for  the  discipline,  as  he  said, 
never  imagining  that  it  would  be  any  particular  benefit 
to  me.  But  it  was  very  fortunate  for  me  just  then. 
Colonel  Wisewell,  by  the  way,  after  the  war,  was  the 
principal  of  the  military  academy  at  Eaglewood,  near 
Peith  Am  boy,  New  Jersey. 

I  thought  that  I  would  at  once  try  to  see  Colonel 
"Wisewell  at  his  office,  and  proceeded  to  the  war  depart- 
ment. 

Now  it  was  a  hard  thing  in  those  days  for  a  private 
soldier  to  get  into  the  war  department  without  a  pass  or 
order  or  some  sort  of  an  introduction.  I  was  stopped 
at  almost  every  turn  of  the  hallwaj'S  by  a  soldier  on 
guard,  but  as  I  had  had  some  newspaper  experience  in 
getting  into  places,  I  finally  succeeded  in  reaching  the 
office  of  the  provost  marshal  general.  Eight  at  the 
entrance  whom  should  I  run  right  into  but  Colonel 
Wisewell  himself! 

The  colonel  was  a  remarkable-looking  man.  He  was 
considerably  over  six  feet  high  and  had  an  eagle  nose  of 
the  hookiest  shape  imaginable.  He  also  had  an  eagle 
eye,  that  seemed  to  look  straight  through  you.  He  was 
altogether  a  man  of  extraordinary,  commanding  ap- 
pearance, and  in  his  uniform  he  looked  more  command- 
ing than  ever.  I  remember  being  struck  just  then  with 
the  impression  of  how  appropriate  it  was  that  a  man 
with  an  eagle  eye  and  an  eagle  nose,  should  wear  eagles 
on  his  shoulder  straps — a  silver  spread  eagle  being  the 
insignia  of  a  colonel. 

"Colonel  Wisewell?"  I  said  quite  bravely. 

"Well,  sir,  what  do  you  want?"  he  asked,  very 
brusquely,  not  to  say  harshly. 

"Do  you  remember  me,  colonel?"  I  asked,  some- 
what timorously,  for  his  brusque  manner  had  rather 
disconcerted  me. 

He  turned  his  eagle  eye  at  me,  and  his  glance  seemed 
to  penetrate  my  innermost  soul.  I  was  terrified  lest  he 
should  have  forgotten  his  former  humble  pupil  at  Yon- 
kers  academy.  For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  and  then 
said : 

"Your  face  is  familiar,  but  I  can't  place  you.  What 
is  your  name?" 


THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER.  479 

My  heart  rather  went  clown.  But  if  I  had  stopped  to 
think  a  moment  I  might  have  considered  that  it  was 
quite  improbable  that  he  should  have  recognized  me  on 
the  start. 

I  was.  a  mere  boy  when  I  attended  his  school  and  it 
was  several  years  previous.  Furthermore  how  was  it 
likely  that  he  should  have  recognized  me  there,  in  that 
place  and  in  that  uniform?  But  I  was  a  little  shaky 
when  I  answered : 

"My  name  is  Crowell.  I  used  to  attend  your  academy 
at " 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  interrupted,  "I  recognize  you  now. 
You  are  Joe  Crowell.  But  what  are  you  doing  here? 
I  had  no  idea  you  were  in  the  army. " 

Then  I  related  to  him  the  circumstances,  and  briefly 
went  over  my  service  in  the  Thirteenth,  and  explained 
how  I  had  come  on  to  be  examined  for  a  commission, 
but  was  afraid  that  with  so  many  applicants  there  was 
little  chance  for  me  unless  I  had  some  influence.  I 
frankly  acknowledged  that  I  had  come  to  him  to  ask 
for  his  influence  to  help  me  through. 

His  answer  was  more  than  I  could  have  expected.  He 
gave  me  to  understand  then  and  there  that  if  I  could 
pass  at  least  a  creditable  examination  he  would  be  able 
to  help  me  through.  And  he  very  complimentary  re- 
marked that  any  one  who  had  been  a  pupil  at  his  school 
in  Yonkers  ought  to  know  enough  to  answer  the  ques- 
tions that  would  be  propounded. 

"When  do  you  expect  to  be  called  before  the  examin- 
ing board?"  he  finally  asked. 

"Some  time  this  afternoon,"  I  replied.  "Judging 
from  the  way  they  are  going  I  should  think  that  I 
would  be  called  about  3  o'clock  this  afternoon." 

"All  right,"  said  he,  "I  will  attend  to  the  matter  at 
once.  You  go  and  take  your  seat  as  you  were  and  wait 
till  you  are  called,  and  say  nothing  to  any  one  about 
having  seen  me,  for  if  it  is  heard  that  there  can  be  any 
help,  there  will  be  no  end  to  the  applicants  for  assist- 
ance." 

I  went  back  to  the  rooms  of  the  examining  board  with 
a  much  lighter  heart.  In  a  few  minutes  I  noticed  Colo- 
nel Wisewell  enter  the  examination  room,  and  directly 


480  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

he  came  out  again.  He  gave  me  a  significant  nod  of 
recognition  as  he  passed  me,  but  I  had  the  sense  not  to 
stop  him  to  ask  any  questions.  I  knew,  however,  from 
his  glance  that  he  had  done  everything  he  could  do. 

According  to  my  calculations  and  judging  from  the 
number  of  candidates  still  ahead  of  me  on  the  list,  I 
thought  that  it  would  be  at  least  two  hours  before  my 
name  was  reached.  But  what  was  my  surprise  a  few 
moments  later  to  see  one  of  the  officers  stick  his  head 
out  of  the  mysterious  apartment  of  torture,  and  looking 
around,  ask: 

"Is  Private  Crov/ell  here?" 

I  arose  and  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"All  right,"  said  the  officer.     "Come  right  in  now." 

I  was  so  nearly  paralyzed  with  astonishment  and 
fright  that  I  staggered  like  a  drunken  man.  My  shak- 
ing knees  would  hardly  bear  the  weight  of  my  body  as 
I  made  my  way  into  the  mysterious  chamber. 

My  self-possession  was  not  in  the  least  restored  when 
I  glanced  around  and  saw  the  array  of  generals  and 
colonels  and  majors  gathered  around  the  long  table  at 
the  end  of  the  room. 

Then  began  the  inquisition.  I  had  come  to  the  gulf 
that  separates  the  privates  from  the  commissioned 
officer. 


TEE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  481 


CHAPTER  LXXXVI. 

CROSSING  THE  GREAT  GULF. 

None  except  those  who  have  served  in  the  army  can 
fully  appreciate  the  vast  gulf  that  exists  between  the 
"enlisted  man"  and  the  "commissioned  officer." 

The  former  is  the  plebeian,  the  serf  of  the  army,  the 
latter  the  aristocrat,  the  autocrat  of  the  service. 

The  difference  between  the  master  and  a  slave  in  the 
old  times  was  hardly  greater  than  that  between  the  en- 
listed soldier  and  the  commissioned  officer.  The  former 
was  compelled  to  do  whatever  the  latter  commanded, 
no  matter  what  it  might  be.  If  an  officer  commanded 
a  soldier  to  blacken  his  boots,  brush  his  clothes,  cook 
his  breakfast,  or  even  wash  his  shirt,  to  refuse  or  dis- 
obey would  be  regarded  as  mutiny.  The  soldier  might 
subsequently  make  a  protest,  and  perhaps — I  say  per- 
haps— it  might  be  righted  by  instructions  being  given 
to  the  officer  not  to  again  put  the  soldier  on  such  menial 
service. 

But  for  the  time  being  it  was  the  soldier's  duty  to  obey. 
In  fact,  the  first  thing  a  soldier  is  taught  is  to  obey 
orders,  no  matter  what  they  may  be.  And  it  were  bet- 
ter for  him  to  do  so,  for  if  there  was  a  protest  against 
some  mean  service,  the  officer  could,  by  a  system  of 
petty  tyranny,  make  that  soldier's  life  forever  after  a 
hell  on  earth. 

The  best  advice  I  can  give  to  a  soldier  is  to  obey 
orders,  no  matter  what  they  may  be ;  and  as  far  as  pos- 
sible keep  on  the  right  side  of  the  officers. 

This  vast  gulf  I  was  about  to  cross,  or  to  try  to  cross. 
It  was  therefore  not  an  ordinary  examination.  The 
result  was  momentous.  It  was  perhaps  one  of  the  most 
important  steps  I  had  ever  taken.  I  was  impressd  with 
its  importance,  and  naturally  felt  very  nervous  over  the 


433  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

result.  I  bad  not  the  slightest  idea  of  the  nature  of  the 
questions  to  be  asked,  and  so  had  not  had  the  chance  to 
make  any  preparation.  I  bad  more  than  a  fair  knowl- 
edge of  the  tactics  and  articles  of  war  and  military 
matters  generally,  but  I  had  been  given  to  understand 
that  the  examination  would  go  a  good  deal  further  than 
that,  although  in  what  direction  I  was  profoundly  igno- 
rant. 

Seated  around  the  table  in  the  middle  of  the  examina- 
tion room  were  a  lot  of  gold-laced,  shoulder-strapped 
officers,  whom  I  did  not  know  at  the  time,  but  whom  I 
subsequently  learned  were  as  follows : 

There  were  Colonel  Richard  H.  Eush,  Colonel  G.  N. 
Morgan,  Colonel  F.  D.  Sewall,  Colonel  B.  J.  Sweet, 
Lieiitenant-Colonel  Dewitt  C.  Poole  and  Captain  James 
R.  O'Beirne.  The  latter  is  a  prominent  New  Yorker 
at  the  present  time.  He  is  the  same  Colonel  0'Beiri:e 
who  was  commissioner  of  immigration,  who  refused  to 
vamoose  the  ranch  when  another  man  was  placed  in 
his  position,  on  the  ground  that  he  was  a  veteran  and 
that  under  the  civil  services  rules  he  could  not  be 
removed  except  for  cause. 

The  above-named  officers  were  the  official  members 
of  the  examination  board.  I  noticed  a  number  of  others 
sitting  around,  but  they  were  there  simply  as  spectators. 
They  appeared  to  enjoy  the  torture  of  the  innocents  the 
same  as  the  kings  and  emperors  of  old  enjoyed  the  tor- 
ture of  the  prisoners  brought  before  them. 

Well,  the  examination  began  promptly  on  time.  Colo- 
nel Rush,  the  president  of  the  board,  sent  the  ball  roll- 
ing in  a  kindly  meant  way  by  advising  me  not  to  be 
nervous  and  to  keep  cool,  as  the  examination  would  not 
be  a  hard  one.  This  was  all  right,  but  the  idea  that  he 
should  have  considered  it  necessary  to  give  me  any  such 
advice  at  all  struck  me  as  a  preparation  for  something 
terrible,  and,  if  anything,  it  made  me  all  the  more 
nervous. 

The  first  question  was  of  course  my  name  and  resi- 
dence, occupation  before  enlisting,  and  all  such  things. 
Then  came  the  time  I  had  been  in  the  army,  the  battles 
I  had  been  in,  and  the  nature  of  my  wounds.  When 
this  part  of  the  examination  had  been  reached  I  had  to 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEEB.  483 

Undress  and  be  examined  by  two  surgeons  who  were 
present.  I  did  not  like  the  idea  of  stripping  before  so 
many  big  officers,  but  then  I  had  come  prepared  to  go 
through  anything  that  might  come  along,  the  same  as  a 
fellow  does  when  he  offers  himself  as  a  candidate  for 
initiation  in  a  Masonic  lodge. 

This  through,  after  being  examined  like  a  horse  for 
all  my  "points,"  I  resumed  my  clothing,  and  the  ques- 
tions were  fired  at  me  with  lightning  rapidity. 

As  I  said  before,  I  had  posted  myself  on  the  regula- 
tions, articles  of  war,  tactics,  and  such  things,  and 
could  even  draw  from  memory  many  of  the  blanks  used 
in  the  service,  thanks  to  my  experience  as  company 
clerk.  Then  they  commenced  asking  me  questions 
touching  my  general  intelligence. 

Mathematics  was  my  weak  point  always,  and  I  felt 
sure  that  I  would  stumble  on  these  things,  but  fortu- 
nately they  did  not  go  further  than  the  computation  of 
interest  and  the  multiplication  of  plain  fractions.  If 
they  had  gone  into  the  mixed  and  vulgar  fractions  I 
would  have  fallen  by  the  wayside.  They  skipped  over 
algebra,  to  my  great  satisfaction,  for  on  that  subject  I 
never  got  further  than  to  know  that  "x  equalled  the 
unknown  quantity,"  and  the  rest  has  been  an  "unknown 
quantity"  all  my  life.  They  asked  me  one  question  in 
geometry,  and  it  happened  to  be  about  the  only  oue  I 
could  have  answered.  It  was  the  first  problem  in  Book 
I  of  Davies'  "Legendre,"  and  I  guess  that  must  have 
been  as  far  as  any  of  my  examiners  had  ever  got  them- 
selves. 

What  under  the  sun  all  these  things  had  to  do  with 
holding  the  commission  of  a  lieutenant,  perhaps  the 
reader  would  like  to  know.  So  would  I.  I  never  did 
know. 

Then  they  tackled  me  with  geography,  and  here  I 
made  a  pretty  mess  of  it.  "How  long  is  the  Mississippi 
River?"  I  was  asked.  How  did  I  know?  How  many 
of  my  readers  can  tell,  off-handed?  ' ' How  many  square 
miles  are  there  in  Lake  Superior?"  was  fired  at  me.  I 
began  to  get  desperate. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  I,  reaching  for  my  hat,  "I  am  a 
candidate  for  a  position  in  the  army,  not  in  the  navy." 


434  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  -    .... 

I  thought  it  was  all  up  with  me  then.  But  instead 
of  getting  mad  about  it,  my  sally  provoked  a  laugh,  and 
they  dropped  the  question  of  the  areage  of  the  great 
lakes. 

Then  they  tackled  me  on  grammar  and  spelling  and 
literature,  in  which  I  did  fairly  well,  I  imagine,  for 
there  were  approving  nods  passed  round  the  board. 
And  when  I  was  asked  to  take  a  seat  at  the  table  and 
write  an  imaginary  report  of  a  street  riot,  I  was  right 
in  my  element,  for  I  simply  wrote  it  out  as  I  would 
have  done  for  a  newspaper. 

But  I  will  not  weary  the  reader  by  any  further  details 
of  the  examination.  It  lasted  apparently  a  long  while, 
but  it  was  not  so  long  after  all,  for  when  I  was  dis- 
missed and  got  out  into  the  other  room  I  had  not  been 
before  the  board  much  more  than  half  an  hour. 

Of  course  I  did  not  know  whether  I  had  passed  or 
not.  I  was  told  that  I  would  receive  word  of  the  result 
in  due  time.  From  that  moment  I  was  on  pins  and 
needles.  Now  the  prize  seemed  to  be  so  near  my  grasp, 
I  was  more  than  ever  anxious  to  secure  it.  I  went  to 
the  hotel  that  afternoon  in  a  very  disconcerted  state  of 
mind  over  the  feeling  of  uncertainty. 

In  the  evening  I  met  Colonel  Wisewell  at  Willard's 
Hotel,  where  I  had  wandered  somewhat  aimlessly.  The 
colonel  was  quite  friendly. 

"I  have  a  room  here,"  said  he.     "Come  up." 

And  I  went  upstairs  with  the  colonel.  He  rang  a 
bell  and  the  boy  brought  us  some  whisky.  I  felt  that 
I  needed  something  just  then.  Then  I  touched  the  bell. 
I  had  a  little  money  and  we  had  a  good  time ! 

During  the  evening  two  of  the  officers  of  the  examin- 
ing board  dropped  in.  I  was  considerably  surprised  at 
their  appearance. 

"I  was  just  treating  my  old  friend  and  schoolmaster, 
Colonel  Wisewell,"  I  said.  "If  I  were  a  commissioned 
officer  I  would  ask  you  to  join.  I  believe  that  it  is  con- 
trary to  the  ethics  of  the  service  for  a  commissioned 
officer  to  drink  with  a  private  soldier." 

"Oh,  you  needn't  worry  about  that  little  thing,  lieu- 
tenant," said  Colonel (I  won't  mention  his  name). 

"  Lieutenant?"  said  I  wonderingly. 


TEE  TOTING   VOLUNTEER.  483 

"Yes,  Lieutenant  Crowell,  permit  me  to  congratulate 
you." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  passed  all  right?" 
asked  I,  with  ill-suppressed  delight. 

"That's  just  what  I  mean.  You  will  receive  formal 
notice  in  the  morning.  You  are  practically  a  second 
lieutenant  now  at  this  moment,  for  your  commission 
dates  from  to  day." 

For  a  moment  I  was  speechless.  I  could  hardly 
realize  it. 

I  rang  the  bell.  There  were  no  electric  buttons  in 
those  days — only  a  sort  of  little  brass  crank  fastened 
into  the  wall,  which  sounded  a  bell  in  the  office. 
"Boy,"  said  I,  with  all  the  air  of  a  major-general, 
when  the  waiter  stuck  his  woolly  head  into  the  door, 
"boy,  bring  up  half  a  dozen  bottles  of  wine." 

Champagne  was  then  five  dollars  a  bottle,  and  small 
bottles  at  that.  But  what  did  I  care  for  expense  just 
at  that  moment?  Thirty  dollars  in  a  momentary  swoop, 
to  be  sure.  One-third  of  the  capital  I  had  brought  to 
Washington  gone  in  a  minute !  But  I  never  thought  of 
the  expense  just  then.  I  was  getting  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  dollars  a  month  then,  instead  of  the  measly 
thirteen  dollars  that  I  had  been  receiving  as  a  private. 

We  drank  the  wine,  and  one  of  the  officers  ordered 
some  more.  Then  another  officer  ordered  some  more, 
and  so  on ! 

All  the  same  I  got  back  to  my  hotel  about  midnight 
without  assistance ! 

I  passed  through  the  office  of  the  "National"  that 
night  in  the  plain  garb  of  a  private  soldier.  "Only  an 
enlisted  man,"  is  what  any  one  would  have  said  to  see 
me.  But  I  held  a  blessed  secret  in  my  heart  that  made 
me  greatly  enjoy  the  incognito. 

There  was  little  sleep  for  me  that  night.  A  commis- 
sioned officer !  The  dreams  of  every  soldier  are  to  be  a 
commissioned  officer.  I  had  been  accorded  the  distinc- 
tion. I  could  hardly  realize  it.  It  seemed  all  so  sud- 
den that  as  I  lay  there  on  my  bed  that  night  I  had  to 
go  over  and  over  the  facts  to  make  myself  believe  that 
I  had  really  been  so  fortunate. 

I  felt  a  little  rocky  in  the  morning  and  thought  that  a 


486  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

cocktail  would  rouse  me  up.  I  forgot  my  uniform  and 
ordered  it  with  all  the  gusto  of  a  general. 

"Can't  sell  liquor  to  enlisted  men,"  said  the  bar- 
keeper. 

I  had  forgotten.  But  then  I  wasn't  an  enlisted  man. 
Would  I  tell  the  barkeeper?  No,  I  guess  not.  He 
wouldn't  believe  me  anyhow.  And  I  rather  enjoyed 
the  disguise,  as  I  had  begun  to  regard  my  private's  uni- 
form. So  I  took  a  plain  lemonade.  I  have  an  idea  now 
that  it  did  me  a  good  deal  more  benefit  than  the  cock- 
tail would  have  done. 

The  next  morning  I  received  an  official  document  set- 
ting all  doubts  at  rest.  Here  is  a  copy  of  the  original  I 
have  now  before  me : 

Office  of  the  Board  of  Examination  of  Officers 
of  the  Invalid  Corps, 
Washington,  D.  C,  January  27,  1864. 
Report  of  the  examination  of  Private  Joseph  E.  Cro- 
well,  Co.  D,  16th  Regt.   In  v.  Corps,   by  the  Board  of 
Examination  convened  by  Special  Orders  No.  9  (Ex. 
26),  War  Dept.,  1864. 

Having  carefully  examined  Private  Joseph  E.  Cro- 
well,  Co.  D,  16th  Regt.  I.  C.  upon  Tactics,  Regula- 
tions, Articles  of  War,  Field  Service,  Discipline,  Dis- 
ability, General  Education,  and  capacity  for  holding  a 
commission,  upon  mature  deliberation  decide  to  recom- 
mend Private  Joseph  E.  Crowell,  Co.  D,  16th  Regt.  I. 
C,  for  the  appointment  of  Second  Lieutenant  in  the 
Invalid  Corps  and  to  do  duty  in  the  First  Battalion. 
(Signed) 

Rich'd  H.  Rush,  Col.  1st  Regt.   I.  C,  Pres't 

of  Board. 
G.  N.  Morgan,  Col.  2d  Regt.  I.  C,  member. 
F.  D.  Sewall,  Col.  3d,  4th  Regt.  In.  Corps. 
R.  J.  Sweet,  Col.  8th  Regt.  I.  C,  member. 
Dewitt  C.  Poole,  Lieut. -Col.  I.  C. 
A  true  copy, 

James  R.  O'Beirne,  Capt.  I.  C,  on  duty. 

As  before  explained,  the  name  of  the  organization  at 
that  time  was  the  "Invalid  Corps."  It  was  subse- 
quently changed  to   "Veteran  Reserve  Corps."     The 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  487 

change  was  made  between  the  time  of  my  examination 
and  the  receipt  of  my  commission  from  the  president,  so 
that  the  commission  bore  the  new  name,  and  I  have 
been  informed  that  mine  was  the  first  commission  issued 
under  the  name  of  the  "Veteran  Reserve  Corps." 

I  went  up  to  the  provost  marshal  general's  office  the 
same  day  and  asked  Colonel  Wise  well  what  to  do  next. 

He  told  me  that  there  were  certain  formalities  to  be 
observed  before  I  got  my  commission.  I  had  to  return 
to  Elmira,  where  I  would  receive  a  formal  announce- 
ment  and  the  colonel  of  my  regiment  would  also  be 
similarly  notified.  And  on  the  strength  of  that  notice 
he  would  grant  me  a  discharge  as  private. 

So  I  returned  to  Elmira.  I  called  on  Colonel  Moore 
and  informed  him  of  my  success,  and  he  congratulated 
me  heartily. 

"It's  a  good  thing  that  you  got  through  all  right," 
said  he  good-naturedly,  "for  you  will  remember  what 
I  told  you — that  if  you  failed  I  would  put  you  in  the 
guardhouse." 

I  laughingly  remembered. 

For  several  days  I  waited  for  the  official  announce- 
ment of  my  appointment.  As  the  days  rolled  by  I 
began  to  get  discouraged.  What  if  after  all  there 
should  be  some  mistake  about  it?  The  disappointment 
would  have  been  terrible,  after  my  ideas  had  been  raised 
so  high. 

It  was  not  till  the  8th  of  February  that  I  received  the 
expected  notification.  It  was  dated  February  2d,  but 
there  was  so  much  red  tape  to  go  through  in  those  days 
that  there  always  was  a  delay  in  official  documents. 
But  the  thing  came  at  last,  and  I  have  it  before  me.  It 
reads  as  follows : 

"War  Department, 
"Provost  Marshal  General's  Office, 
"Washington,  D.  C,  February  2,  1894. 
"Second  Lieutenant  Joseph  E.  Crowell, 

Invalid  Corps, 

Elmira,  N,  Y. 
"Sir:  Inclosed  you  will  receive  your  appointment  in 
the  Invalid  Corps.     You  will  put  yourself  in  uniform, 


488  THE  YOUNG    VOLUNTEER. 

according  to  the  instructions  contained  in  the  inclosed 
circular,  and  report,  in  person,  to  the  Provost  Marshal 
General,  Washington,  D.  C,  with  as  little  delay  as  pos- 
sible.    I  am,  very  respectfully, 

"Your  obedient  servant, 

"M.  N.  WlSEWELL, 

"Colonel  and  Assistant  to  Provost  Marshal  General." 

There  was  a  little  note  attached  to  the  effect  that  if  I 
did  not  report  in  seven  days  it  would  be  construed  as 
a  non-acceptance  of  the  appointment.  No  danger  of 
that !  I  would  be  there  on  time  all  right,  you  bet ! 

Colonel  Moore,  of  the  regiment  to  which  I  had  been 
attached,  received  notice  of  my  appointment  at  the  same 
time,  and  he  at  once  made  out  my  discharge.  I  left 
Elmira  the  same  day  with  the  congratulations  of  my 
former  companions  and  the  envy  of  the  men  with  whom 
I  had  been  intimately  associated  in  the  menial  duties  of 
a  private  soldier. 

The  next  thing  was  the  uniform.  I  concluded  to 
patronize  home  industry  and  made  a  bee-line  for  Pater- 
son,  and  gave  the  order  to  a  tailor  of  that  city.  The 
uniform  was  an  expensive  and  elaborate  affair.  The 
overcoat  alone  cost  $95.  The  sword  and  sash,  which  I 
have  yet,  cost  $30.  Altogether  the  outfit  cost  in  the 
neighborhood  of  $250,  and  I  had  to  borrow  some  money 
to  make  it  up.  But  a  jump  from  $13  to  $125  a  month 
and  expenses  paid  was  such  an  advance  that  the  ques- 
tion of  expense  never  entered  my  mind. 

If  ever  I  had  a  good  time  I  had  it  on  that  occasion.  I 
visited  all  my  old  friends  and  enjoyed  myself  im- 
mensely. I  was  regarded  as  a  sort  of  hero,  too,  and  I 
didn't  lot  on  to  a  single  soul  that  I  was  anything  else ! 

But  I  was  surprised  at  the  absence  of  so  many  of  my 
old  associates.  I  would  ask  for  this  one  and  that  one, 
only  to  be  told  that  he  had  enlisted  in  this  or  that  regi- 
ment. It  really  seemed  as  if  all  my  old  friends  had 
gone  to  the  front.  Paterson  looked  deserted.  And  my 
best  girl  had  been  married.  If  she  had  seen  me  in  my 
uniform  she  never  would  have  done  it. 

But  there  were  still  some  people  in  town  that  I  re- 
membered well  enough,  including  some  of  those  whose 


THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER.  489 

speeches  had  instigated  me  and  so  many  others  to  enlist. 
They  never  went  themselves.  Their  course  was  like 
that  of  the  dominie  who  said :  "  I  want  you  to  do  as  I 
say,  not  as  I  do."  They  fought  the  war  with  a  chin — ■ 
as  did  Samson  of  old,  in  his  encounter  with  the  Philis- 
tines ! 

Before  the  week  was  up  I  was  ready,  and  started 
once  more  for  Washington.  There  was  lots  of  fun 
traveling  in  those  days,  for  it  cost  nothing.  All  that  it 
was  necessar3r  to  do  was  to  exhibit  the  order  received  to 
the  nearest  quartermaster  (and  there  were  quartermas- 
ters stationed  in  almost  every  city  just  for  such  pur- 
poses) and  he  would  give  you  an  order  on  the  railroad, 
which  was  technically  known  as  "transportation." 
This  order  presented  at  the  ticket  office  would  give  a 
ticket  for  the  trip,  whether  it  involved  one  or  a  thou- 
sand men. 

So  I  went  to  Washington  in  style.  There  were  no 
Pullman  cars  in  those  days,  or  the  officers  would  have 
patronized  them.  The  officers  always  took  the  best 
there  was  to  be  had.  I  am  speaking  of  the  commis- 
sioned officer.  Cattle  cars  were  good  enough  for  the 
enlisted  men.  But  I  had  passed  the  great  gulf  and  was 
now  a  commissioned  officer. 

The  weather  was  very  cold  and  I  wore  my  big  over- 
coat, a  dark  blue,  navy  cloth  garment,  with  a  wide 
cape,  and  the  front  all  decorated  with  braids  and  loops 
instead  of  buttons.  The  number  of  braids  in  the  deco- 
rations indicated  the  rank. 

But  they  were  not  so  noticeable  as  the  bright  new 
shoulder  straps,  and  I  remember  throwing  back  my 
overcoat  so  that  the  shoulder  straps  would  show.  I 
only  wish  3d  that  my  mustache  was  a  little  bigger. 
The  dye  was  wearing  off.  I  would  have  to  patronize 
that  Washington  barber  again  as  soon  as  I  reached  the 
capital ! 

I  will  digress  a  moment  to  say  that  while  I  had  re- 
ceived my  appointment,  I  had  not  yet  my  regular  com- 
mission. I  did  not  receive  that  for  some  time  after. 
The  commission  was  precisely  the  same  as  those  given 
to  the  officers  of  the  regular  army.  They  were  signed 
by  the  President  of   the  United  States.     They  were 


490  THE  YOUNG   VOLUNTEER. 

neatly  engraved  on  real  parchment,  and  highly  prized 
by  the  recipients,  more  so  in  fact  than  the  commissions 
of  volunteer  officers,  for  the  latter  were  signed  only  by 
the  governors  of  States,  while  those  of  the  regular  army 
and  the  Veteran  Reserve  Corps  were  signed  by  the 
President  of  the  United  States,  the  secretary  of  war  and 
the  adjutant  general.  My  own  commission,  which  I 
have  carefully  retained  to  this  day,  bears  the  names  of 
Abraham  Lincoln,  Edwin  M.  Stanton  and  E.  D.  Town- 
send,  the  incumbents,  respectively,  of  the  three  offices 
named. 

I  arrived  in  the  evening,  and  went  to  the  same  hotel  I 
had  occupied  before— the  National.  After  I  had  been 
assigned  to  a  room  and  left  my  valise  and  sword,  I 
sauntered  into  the  barroom.  I  didn't  want  a  drink,  but 
I  thought  I  would  just  for  once  see  what  difference  the 
shoulder  straps  would  make. 

"Make  me  a  light  cocktail,"  I  said  to  the  barkeeper. 

"Certainly,  lieutenant;  what  shall  it  be,  whisky  or 
gin?" 

I  was  now  convinced  that  I  had  crossed  the  great 
gulf! 

CONCLUSION. 

For  nearly  two  years  after  promotion  the  writer 
served  as  a  commissioned  officer,  but  not  in  the  field. 
It  was  on  detached  service,  in  secret  government  work, 
on  commissions,  etc.  It  was  interesting,  exciting,  and 
replete  with  adventures.  But  that  is,  to  quote  a  well- 
known  author,  "another  story." 


An  answer  to  "  The  Story  of  An  African  Faf rii»'*, 
By  ALIEN, 

12  mo.  Cloth,        -  $2o2Sa 

(Nealy's  International  Library.) 

A  FEW  PRESS  OPINIOKS. 


Christian  "  This  Is  a  fascinating  and  powerful  story.   We  cordiaiir 

World  recommend  this  book,  which  is  as  Interesting  as  it  is  well 

written." 
Aberdeen  •'  A  novel  of  remarkable  originality  and  power,  and  written 

Free  Press  In  a  style  that  is  perfectly  faBSnating." 

Daily  Newa  "Striking  passages    *    *    *    touches  of  pathos    *   *   *   a 

delightful  scene  in  the  opening  portion." 
Literary  "An  original  and  picturesque  book.    A  very  pretty  bit 

World  of  writing.    The  career  of  Florence  offers  some  good  prob- 

lems for  the  student  of  life's  philosophies." 
Speaker  "  Flashes  of  beauty   *  *  *   Some  striking  passages  *  *  * 

Shows  both  originality  and  power." 
Ladies'  "This  very  original  story:  so  good  it  is  that  its  clever 

Pictorial  author  is  almost  certain  to  have  a  great  future  before  her." 

Birmingham  "  Strong  in  thought,  vigorous  in  expression.  The  character 
Daily  Gazette  of  Florence  is  drawn  with  sympathy  and  discrimination." 
Methodist  "  The  conception  is  fine,  splendidly  worked  up  by  a  master 

Recorder  hand.  The  work  is  full  of  artistic  thought  and  deep  feeling, 

and  ranks  high  among  present  day  tales.    We  warmly  recommend  it." 
Church  Family   "  A  tale  of  considerable  power,  and  with  many  thrilling 
Newspaper  incidents  and  pathetic  details." 

THE  ONE  TOO  HANY 

By  E.  LYNN  LINTON, 

Author  of  "Patricia  Kemball"  "The  Atonement  of  Leam  Dundas,"&c 
12  MO.  CLOTH,        •  $1.25. 

(Neely's  International  Library.) 

Post  "Mrs.  E.  Lynn  Linton  Is  one  of  the  very  ablest  from  the 

la  teliyrencer       group  of  brilliant  writers  of  fiction.  The  charm  of  her  style 

ana  the  interest  of  the  story  are  alike  undeniable. 
Cc  ,imercial         "A  work  with  a  commendable  mission.    It  is  inscribed  to 
Ai  peal  the '  sweet  girls  still  left  among  us  who  have  no  part  in  the 

new  revolt  but  are  content  to  be  dutiful,  innocent  and  sheltered.' " 
Bo  ton  Finely  worked  up,  buoying  the  interest  of  the  reader  on  the 

Courier  highest  surface  level  to  the  end. 

Chicago  "Although  Mrs.  Linton  has  a  horror  of  the  girl  who  jumps 

Mail  the  home  traces,  she  has  built  a  plot  in  which  the  new 

woman  has  the  best  of  the  situation." 
Boston  "The  story  as  a  story  is  a  thoroughly  Interesting  one  and 

Ideas  runs  along  with  cultured  smoothness  and  alertness." 

Public  "  The  story  Is  a  notable  one.   The  strength  of  character. 

Opinion  drawing  is  marked  and  the  plot  is  developed  with  skill." 

fftw  Sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  sent  on  receipt  of  Price  by  the  Publisher, 
K  TENNXSON  NETL¥?  OsicafQ.  New  York. 


Neely's  Prismatic  Library. 


GILT  TOP,  75  CENTS. 


"I  KNOW  OF  NOTHING  IN  THE  BOOK  LINK  THAT 
EQUALS  NEELY'S  PRISMATIC  LIBRARY  FOR  ELEGANCE 
AND  CAREFUL  SELECTION.  IT  SETS  A  PACE  THAT 
OTHERS  WILL  NOT  EASILY  EQUAL,  AND  NONE  St'1 
PASS."— ».  A.  KOBINSON. 


A  GUIDE  TO  PALMISTRY. 

By  Mrs.  Eliza  Easter-Henderson. 
THE  BULLET.    Max  Nordau. 
MONTRESOR.    By  Loota. 

REVERIES  OP  A  SPINSTER.    By  Helen  Davles. 
THE  ART  MELODIOUS.    By  Louis  Lombard. 
THE  HONOR  OF  A  PRINCESS. 

By  F.  Kimball  Scribner. 
OBSERVATIONS  OF  A  BACHELOR. 

By  Louis  Lombard. 
KINGS  IN  ADVERSITY.    By  E.  S.  Van  Zile. 
NOBLE  BLOOD  AND  A  WEST  POINT  PARALLEL. 
By  Captain  King  and  Ernest  Vcn  Wlldenbruch  of 
the  German  Army. 
TRUMPETER  FRED.  By  Captain  King.   Illustrated. 
FATHER  STAFFORD.    By  Anthony  Hope. 
THE  KING  IN  YELLOW.    By  R.  W.  Chambers, 
IN  THE  QUARTER.     By  R.  W.  Chambers. 
A  PROFESSIONAL  LOVER.     By  Gyp. 
BIJOU'S  COURTSHIPS.    By  Gyp.    Illustrated, 
A  CONSPIRACY  OF  THE  CARBONARI. 

By  Louise  Muhlbach. 

SOAP  BUBBLES.    By  Dr.  Max  Nordau. 


For  sale  everywhere,  or  sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price, 

F.  TENNYSON  NEELY,  Publisher, 

96  Queen  Street,  114  Fifth  Avenuet 


LONDON. 


NEW  YORK. 


IN  THE  QUARTER* 

By  ROBERT  W,  CHAHBERS, 

Author  of  "  The  King  in  Yellow." 


Neely's  Prismatic  Library. 

50  cents. 

A  new  novel  by  the  author  of  that  wonderful  book,  "  The  King  in  Yellow," 
Is  an  event  of  considerable  importance  to  the  reading  public  ;  nor  will  a  perusal 
of  "  In  the  Quarter  "  disappoint  those  critics  who  have  predicted  such  a  glorious 
future  for  Robert  W.  Chambers.  As  the  title  would  indicate,  the  jtory  deals  with 
life  in  the  Quartier  Latin,  in  Paris,  where  the  merry  art  students  live  and  move 
and  have  their  being,  and  over  which  the  halo  of  romance  ever  hangs  ;  a  pecul- 
iar people  with  whom  we  have  spent  many  an  entrancing  hour  in  company  with 
6uch  volumes  as  " Trilby  "  and  "  A  E:ng  in  Yellow." 

PRESS  NOTECES: 

Book  Buyer,  New  York: — "  It  is  a  story  of  a  man  who  tried  to  reconcile 
Irreconcilable  facts.  .  .  Mr.  Chambers  tells  it  with  a  happy  choice  of  words, 
thus  putting  '  to  proof  the  art  alien  to  the  artists.'  .  .  It  is  not  a  book  for  the 
unsophisticated,  yet  its  morality  is  high  and  unmistakable." 

Brooklyn  Citizen  : — "  Full  of  romantic  incidents." 

Boston  Courier:— "Interesting  novel  of  French  life." 

Boston  Traveler  :— "  A  story  of  student  life  written  with  dash  and  suie^' 
of  handling." 

Boston  Times:— "Well  written,  bright,  vivid;  the  ending  is  highly  dr» 
tnatic." 

New  York  Sunday  World  :— "  Charming  story  of  Bohemian  life,  with  its 
bouyancy,  its  romance,  and  its  wild  joy  of  youth  .  .  vividly  depicted  in  this 
graceful  tale  by  one  who,  like  Daudet,  knows  his  Paris.  Some  pages  are  exquis- 
itely beautiful." 

Philadelphia  Bulletin  :— "  Idyllic— charming.  Mr.  Chambers7  story  is 
delicately  told." 

)  New  York  Evening  Telegram  :— "  It  is  a  good  story  in  its  way.  It  is 
»ood  in  several  ways.  There  are  glimpses  of  the  model  and  of  the  grisette— all 
aainty  enough.  The  most  of  it  might  have  coire  from  so  severe  a  moralist  as 
George  Eliot  or  even  Bayard  Taylor." 

New  York  Commercial  Advertiser  :—"  A  very  vivid  and  touchingly  told 
story.  The  tale  is  interesting  because  it  reflects  with  fidelity  the  life  led  by  cer- 
tain sets  of  art  students.    A  genuine  romance,  charmingly  told." 

Congregationalist.  Boston :—"  Vivid,  realistic.  There  is  much  of  no- 
bility in  it.  A  decided  and  excellent  moral  influence.  It  is  charmingly  written 
from  cover  to  cover." 


Per  sale  everywhere,  or  sent  post-paid  on  receipt  of  prices 

F.  TENNYSON  NEELY,  Publisher, 
06  Queen  Street,  London.  114  Fifth  AW"ui*,  New  Yttfe, 


BLAIR'S    IFIXjULS 

Great  English  Remedy  for 

GOUT  and  RHEUMATISM. 

Sure,  Prompt,  Effective. 

Large  Box,  34,  $1 ;  Small,  14  Fills,  50  Cts 

BOX  MAILED  ON  EECKIPT  OP  PRICK. 

Druggists  and  224  William  St.,  New  York 


ra"c 


fir 
lores, 

yMfttteoUS-  ErfaplionS. 


BOX  BY  MML  ON  RECEIPT  OF  30  CTS. 
toRUEGlSTSAND  224  WILLIAM  SLNEWJfflFUC 


This  wonderful  and  match- 
less Ointment  has  been  a 
family  standby  and  reliance 
of  three  generations,  being 
one  of  the  oldest  household 
remedies  in  America,  and 
those  having  once  used  it  and 
experienced  its  wonderful 
cnrative  powers,  would  not  be 
without  a  box  for  its  weight 
in  gold.  It  can  also  be  used 
with  good  results  on  horses 
and  cattle  for  open  wounds, 
sore  neck,  etc.,  etc. 


W  MEEN  fUHM 


THE  CELEBRATED 

R.  CHINESE  SKIN  and 

JJ*  TOILET  POWDER. 

For  Preserving:,  Restoring  and 
Beautifying  the  Complexion. 

Sold  by  Druggists,  Fancy  Goods 
Houses  and  224  William  Street, 
Hew  York. 

Box  mailed  on  receipt  of  25  cents. 


o 

B 
B 

S' 


ALWAYS    USED  WHEN  ONCE  TRIED. 


Box  mailed  on  receipt  of  30  cents. 


This  is  a  most  excellent 
article  for  cleansing  and  pre- 
serving the  teeth.  It  hardens 
the  gums,  sweetens  the  breath, 
and  beautifies  the  teeth.  It 
contains  no  acid  or  harsh, 
gritty  substance— nothing  that 
can  'injure  the  enamel  in  the 
slighest  degree. 

Sold  by  all  Druggist,  Fancy 
Stores  and  224  William 
Street,  New  lork. 


PA1 


DR.  O.  R.  BAKER'S 


The  Greatest  Pain  Curing  Remedy  Known. 

Pain  cannot  long  exist  where  this  Remedy  is  faithfully-used.  For  Pain  in  the 
Stomach;  Baek  and  Bowels;  Flux,  Colic,  Burns,  Bruises,  Cuts,  Swellings,  Tooth. 
Aehe,  Headache  and  Earache. 

Cures  Almost  Instantaneously. 

Mways  keep  a  bottle  In  your  Medicine  Closet. 

Three  Sizes,  25c,  50c.  and  $1.00. 


J 


HOW  TO  LlVf, 
WHAT  TO  EAT- 
THE  WAV  TO  COOK  IT. 

DR.  CARLIN'S 

UNIVERSAL      .*_ 

RECEIPT  % 


ss^mniLT 

FHT31CMN 

MEMORIAL  EDITION. 

v—T*?!®  2^°n4e^l  wmrjendtainof'  practical  Information,  pertaining  to  every 
hnn^»v£no?*ial.And  Domestic  Economy,  embraces  all  that  every  mother  anS 
«?*^efrer>,pe.edknow*  J*  gl^es  general  rules  In  regard  to  the  proper  selection 
2^^V.;5e£88£m£n.nsr°f  Preparing  same,  what  should  and  should  NOT  be  used 
S  ^Wttv'LWH  based  on  the  excellent  medical  Instructions  also 
given.    NO  FAMILY  SHOULD  BE  WITHOUT  IT. 

REDUCE  YOUR  DOCTOR   BILLS. 

^ni! J>ook  fe?°  arranged,  written  and  illustrated,  that  It  eaves  many  times  its 
cost  to  the  purchaser  every  year.  The  best  treatment  in  the  world  within  the  reacn 
of  all.  The  purchaser  of  Dr.  Carlin's  Thysician  invests  his  money  at  1000  percent. 
Interest.  Index  of  Symptoms.  Index  of  Diseases.  List  of  Medicines,  their 
properties,  how  to  prepare  them  and  how  to  administer  them. 


AN  OUNCE  OF  PREVENTION  IS  WORTH   A  POUND  OP  CURE." 

It  will  Save  Many  Times  Its  Cost  in  One  Tear. 

IT  your  child  Is  sick,  consult  it.    If  you  are  worn  out,  it  suggests  a  remedy.    If  yon 

want  to  start  a  garden,  it  tells  you  how.    If  your  husband  is  out  of  sorts.  It  will  tell 

you  what  he  needs.    If  you  need  help  in  your  cooking,  nothing  Is  better.   If  any 

thing  goes  wrong  in  your  household  affairs, 

OLD  DR.  CARLIN  KNOWS  ALL  ABOUT  IT, 

and  explains  so  you  can  make  no  mistake. 
The  work  Is  voluminous  In  all  its  details,  and  written  In  such  a  way  as  to  be 
readily  understood  by  all.    Any  case  of  ordinary  sickness  Is  fully  treated,  and  such 
remedies  suggested  as  are  easily  obtainable  and  at  small  cost. 


DR.  CARLIN  needs  no  Indorsement.  Born  In  Bedford,  England,  he 
acquired  a  reputation  second  to  no  physician  in  that  country,  which  is  a  grand  rec- 
ord. His  grandfather,  father  and  several  brothers  were  eminent  doctors,  indicat- 
ing a  peculiar  fitness  of  the  family  In  this  direction.  His  practical  knowledge  waa 
of  wide  scope. much  of  whict  he  has  embodied  in  this  great  and  indispensable  boo*. 

3@UND  IN  HANDSOME  CLOTH,  GILT  SIDE  AND  OACK. 
ALSO  ENAKGI    HERCULES  MANILLA  COVER. 

Beg.  Subscription  Price,  $g.v  o.  Orders  Solicited.  Special  Terms  to  Agent* 


F.  TENNYSON  NEELY. 

^IDAQ©,  publisher.  NEW  YORK. 


RK    i 


Petfonilla,  the  Sister. 

By  Emma  Homan  Thayer. 

Cloth,  $1.25.  1 


Mrs.  Thayer's  art  books  have  made  for  her  & 
world-wide  reputation  as  a  writer,  and  an  illustra- 
tor of  the  wildflowers  of  America.  "Petronilla" 
is  her  first  novel,  and  we  can  honestly  recommend 
it  as  a  most  delightful  story  indeed.  The  gifted 
writer  paints  human  loves  and  vanities  with  much 
the  same  dexterity  she  has  exhibited  as  an  artist  in 
delineating  the  delicate  hues  of  the  modest  wild- 
flowers  she  so  fondly  worships.  We  take  pleasure 
in  recommending  so  chaste  and  interesting  a  story 
to  the  public.  In  this  day  of  erotic  literature  such 
a  book  is  doubly  welcome,  and  "Petronilla"  is  of 
such  a  character  as  to  hold  the  reader's  attention  to 
the  last  page.  The  scenes  are  laid  in  New  York 
v!ity,  with  a  bright  and  spicy  visit  on  a  ranch  in  the 
mountains  of  Colorado,  a  region  in  which  the  writer 
is  evidently  at  home.  The  illustrations,  some  forty 
in  number,  partly  by  the  author,  and  ably  abetted; 
by  the  well-known  artist,  Remington  W.  Lane,  a^ 
piquancy  to  the  letterpress. 


For  sale  everywhere,  or  sent  post-paid  on  receipt  of  price. 

F.  TENNYSON  NEELY,  Publisher, 
§6  Queen  Street,  London,  114  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York-' 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
3  03 


